


Two roads diverged

by KipDigress



Series: Loose ends may tie themselves [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Homecoming, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KipDigress/pseuds/KipDigress
Summary: Approximately eight years after the end of the series, Meg Thatcher returns to Canada and decides to rejoin the RCMP. In doing so, she meets some faces from the past and finds herself better remembered than she had anticipated. But well-wishing, while necessary, is not sufficient, and she is not the only one who has been altered by the passage of time and additional experiences. Friendship with any Fraser, as both Ray Kowalski and Buck Frobisher well know, is never entirely straightforward.





	1. Returning to Canada; some surprises

Meg Thatcher, sometimes known as the Ice Queen, one-time inspector in the RCMP stared fixedly out of the plane window as it neared Toronto. She'd been abroad for just over seven years, working in several climates for the Canadian Security and Intelligence Services, normally known as the CSIS. During all that time, she had only returned home once: a bizarre experience at the end of her first mission, when she had felt a stranger in her own home city. More recent vacations, or intervals between assignments, had been taken in Europe: she'd returned to France, toured Germany, sat for days on sandy beaches watching the Mediterranean. The Atlantic Ocean had become a barrier she was unwilling to cross, its physical size helping to keep unwanted thoughts and loneliness at bay. Now, shortly after her forty-seventh birthday - memorable only because of the pain, part of an ordeal which had led to her hasty extraction from where she'd been placed two and a half years previously and a quick termination of her work - she was returning to her home city.

Trepidation filled her as the plane descended and Toronto resolved itself into greater detail - once she could have named all the outlying towns; not now. After a month in Edinburgh where several broken ribs, various sores and lacerations, a broken left arm and two deep knife wounds to her right thigh had been treated, she had travelled down to London Heathrow airport and was now nearing the end of her journey home. From Edinburgh she'd been able to make arrangements for her return: apartment rented with six months paid in advance, and the exact details of her career and life memorised - not the true version, but a simple tale that would account for her tan and the most obvious scars; not that she expected ever to be in a position where the more easily hidden, and harder to explain, scars might possibly become a topic of conversation. The story was one that both she and her superiors at CSIS were happy with; it had taken a bit of negotiation.

She was glad that the CSIS valued its retiring officers enough to fly them home first class. Returning from what felt like exile, although largely self-imposed, Meg was glad that had not spent the last eight hours in a cramped seat with a nosey neighbour. Her broken arm was still in a cast and her leg ached after sitting still for so long. A bit of space, a modicum of privacy and complete freedom from unnecessary interruptions had been an appreciated luxury. The aeroplane turned and lost height more rapidly. Minutes later, Meg felt the jolt and subsequent pressure of the seat against her back as the plane landed and slowed. She continued unmoving, gazing out of the small window.

Only once the plane had come to a complete standstill did she unclip her seatbelt, check her passport was to hand and take her small bag out of the overhead locker. She ran her right hand through her dark shoulder length hair and checked one last time that she had not left anything behind before following the few other first class passengers off the plane. Passport control, baggage reclaim - one moderate sized case, easy enough to manage with one hand, customs - nothing to declare, and she was walking past a line of taxi drivers holding signs with names and excited groups of people - presumable family members and friends of other recently landed passengers. Not paying much attention, she did not notice the sign with 'Thatcher' written on it in graceful curving script, held by a slim, blonde haired woman.

The woman did, however, recognise Meg and followed her through the terminal building and out into the pale daylight outside, where she turned towards the bus stand. Once out in the open air, the blonde woman gave a short whistle and Meg was surprised out of her abstraction by the approach of a large, apparently unaccompanied dog who, on reaching her, gave a yip as if in welcome, before walking quite calmly by her side. When, after a few strides, it became clear that her canine companion was not going to leave her, Meg stopped and looked down into a pair of blue eyes in a not-quite typical husky face.

"Why?" she murmured, "Where's your owner?" she asked slightly louder. As if in reply, the dog gave a quiet bark and turned so it faced back the way they'd just come. Only then did Meg become aware of the sign bearing woman and her identity.

"Miss MacKenzie," she said calmly, "this is a surprise."

"I understood that you had refused an arranged taxi so I brought Suki," Maggie MacKenzie replied.

"Humph, I suppose I have no choice but to be taken to my apartment?"

"Not really, ma'am," Maggie replied with a lop-sided smile and led the way back round the terminal building towards the carpark. Before they had gone five metres, Maggie, apparently remembering her manners, turned to Meg: "Ma'am, would you like me to take your case?"

"No, thank you," Meg said, somewhat more sharply than perhaps necessary, "I can manage," she added more softly, "it's only small."

"Understood."

They walked in silence, the dog, Suki, leading, until they reached a plain silver car. Maggie stowed Meg's case in the boot, opened the front passenger door for Meg and the rear passenger door for Suki before taking her place at behind the steering wheel. Meg considered vaguely at the similarities to Benton Fraser, her assistant liaison officer at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, before dismissing the comparison as uncreditable.

"Ready, ma'am," Maggie asked once they were settled.

"Yes," came the curt reply.

After a few minutes, Meg realised that she really had not been particularly courteous to Miss MacKenzie who, it appeared, was doing someone a favour. In their brief meetings many years previously in Chicago, Miss MacKenzie had struck her as being even more strongly tied to the northern wilderness than Fraser; her appearance in Toronto seemed incongruous.

"Are you still with the RCMP?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes, ma'am," came the prompt reply, "I made corporal two months ago."

"Congratulations," Meg said with a faint smile before lapsing back into silence. "But why you?"

"Ma'am?" Maggie queried, thinking that the question, if it related to her promotion, was really unnecessary coming from a woman who had passed that rank at a much younger age than she had.

"Sorry, I was thinking aloud. What I meant was why were you sent to meet me at the airport, even through I'd vetoed the suggestion at the time my travel arrangements were made?"

Maggie drew the car to a halt at a red light before she answered: "There are several reasons, ma'am, why I met you earlier. The direct answer is simply because I was instructed to. The reasons given being that the powers that be - your superiors I assume, not mine - thought that being met by a familiar face would be a reassuring and welcoming experience after your long sojourn abroad."

"But why you?" Meg asked more insistently.

"Because my brother refused," Maggie said hollowly as the lights changed. She put the car into gear and moved off smoothly.

Meg frowned as she tried to understand what this meant. The only other time she'd met Corporal MacKenzie, she'd found the rapport that grew quickly between the then suspended constable (MacKenzie) and the often wayward Constable Fraser confusing, but neither personnel file had mentioned siblings.

"Do I know your brother?" she asked, curious in spite of herself.

"You did. It's Benton."

"Fraser?" Meg did a double take, watching the younger woman's face carefully for any signs of a lie, but it was as bland as Fraser's when he was being his most truthful.

"Yes," Maggie glanced across at her passenger, noting with some surprise that Benton had clearly never enlightened Meg of their relationship.

"Where is he?" Meg asked cautiously after a moment's pause.

"Near Fort Good Hope, but shouldn't you be asking how he is?"

Meg didn't reply for a minute, wondering exactly what Maggie was implying. She sighed before deciding to ask the expected question: "OK, I'll bite: How is he? Is he still RCMP?"

"He's well. He and Ray Kowalski spent nearly six months looking for the hand of Franklin; Fraser was promoted the day after they returned, and again a couple of years ago. I think that, possibly excepting his father, he's the most constable-like sergeant the force has ever seen - he practically refuses to have a partner and spends most of his time out in the wilderness."

"Sounds like he's happy then," Meg observed, inwardly glad that Fraser was doing what he loved best.

"I would say content," Maggie replied thoughtfully. "I've partnered with him on several occasions over the years; I wouldn't say he's happy. Glad to be out in the wild, yes; happy, no."

"You just said now that he doesn't have a partner," Meg objected.

"Not a permanent one," Maggie explained, "He's so individual, so successful at what he does and was admittedly treated harshly in the aftermath of his father's death that if he decides that he needs a partner for any particular case, he has the pick of practically any member of the RCMP. It's rumoured that nearly all the field officers and half the desk officers have put in requests to work with him over the years; all have been refused. It seems that pretty much everyone would jump at the opportunity to work with Sergeant Fraser, son of the legendary Sergeant Robert Fraser, godson and protégé of Staff-Sergeant Buck Frobisher. I sometimes think I may be one of the most envied officers in the force," she finished abruptly.

"Why? How?" Meg asked insistently.

"Because when Benton decides he needs an official partner on a case, I get a call; if it's an unofficial one, it's my husband." Meg made a mental note to confirm who Maggie's husband was, she suspected Ray Kowalski, but wasn't going to presume. "I won't say anything about what it's like to work with Benton - you'll know that as well as I do. But as a lowly constable who was liable to get into trouble, many thought it was an honour I did not deserve - those who knew where I was being seconded to or from that is - but they don't know that he's my brother."

"So why tell me?" Meg asked, curious as to what made her an exception to the secrecy of the relationship.

"Because you should have known already," Maggie said, before explaining more fully: "You matter - to Benton, that is," she added hastily.

There was nothing Meg could say to that, so she let the rest of the journey pass in silence, watching Toronto pass by, and considering Maggie's seeming reluctance to claim her place as Fraser's sister. It was a topic, she thought, for another day and better acquaintance.

When they drew up at what Meg recognised as her apartment block, she resigned herself to letting Maggie open the doors and carry her case for her, appreciating that it would be quicker than being stubborn and struggling independently. Suki stayed in the car. Her apartment was on the third floor and Meg was glad they took the lift; her wounded leg was aching.

At the door, Maggie spoke first: "I'll be off' ma'am," she held out a hand with a slip of paper, "I'm in Toronto for a few days, call me if you need anything."

Meg took the paper in silence and nodded. She watched the younger woman leave. Just as Maggie turned the corner of the corridor, Meg spoke hesitantly, "Thank you, Corporal MacKenzie."

Maggie spun on her heel on hearing Meg's voice. "No worries, ma'am," she said merrily, "it's good to have you back," she added. By the time Meg had got even a quarter of the way through processing the younger woman's words, Maggie had vanished.

Later that evening, after a simple meal of pasta and bacon - Meg appreciated that another advantage of working for the CSIS was that her cupboards were fully stocked on her arrival - she sat down to take stock of her situation. The disadvantage, she suddenly realised, was that there was a very high probability that the CSIS had their own copy of the keys, separate from the two sets that had been sent to her in Edinburgh. All told, that seemed a comparatively small price for her life: or rather, having her life back.

For over eight years, she had lived borrowed lives, borrowed identities; now she could walk down a street without needing to be on her guard constantly, lest a momentary lapse of concentration led her to betray a single movement incongruous with her character. Even in Europe she had had to be wary; perhaps it was not always necessary for her to hide that she was a Canadian woman with a promising career, but conversations still required care: a single slip of the tongue with anyone to whom she had not be expressly authorised to speak freely was likely to met with repercussions ranging from a reprimand to death. That said, she had always had a feeling that there was one person in whose company she would not bother to guard her words and thoughts because his integrity and silence could be counted on without any additional or formal requests for secrecy.

She remembered the first assignment she had received: one of the most daunting parts had been that she had to make her will. Fresh from the trials of Holloway Muldoon and Cyrus Bolt, her heart half-broken from the knowledge that Benton Fraser was gone from her life forever - the evidence so conclusive that he and Ray Kowalski only needed to provide written affidavits of their parts - she had, foolishly perhaps, asked that Benton Fraser, RCMP, Buck Frobisher, RCMP, Ray Kowalski, CPD and Maggie MacKenzie, RCMP, were to be her pall bearers if it ever came to that. Even now, she wondered quite what had made her add Maggie MacKenzie to the list, she'd been jealous of the younger woman's easy understanding of Fraser, but somehow thought that another red tunic would not be amiss. She had considered adding the other Ray - Vecchio - to the list, and Lieutenant Harding Welsh, but in the end decided that really, four pall bearers and one american one at that, would be enough. Of course, that had been made with the assumption that her four, unasked acquaintances would outlast her and obey the summons if they came.

The few times she'd thought about it, she hadn't been able to imagine many people crying at her funeral: her parents had been horrified when she joined the CSIS and she doubted they would come; Fraser would bite his lip hard enough to make it bleed, but his eyes would remain dry; the most she could anticipate would be a few sniffs from the tender-hearted Buck Frobisher. And perhaps half a bucket of tears from Constable Turnbull, a characteristic that disqualified him from more dignified duties. Diefenbaker would probably be there too - she'd made that an explicit note in the arrangements: the wolf was to be allowed to attend and Fraser was to be informed of that at the same time as he received his instructions.

She sighed, that was in the past now. She had survived and returned home; now she had to decide what to do with the remainder of her life. The problem, she thought, was that she did not quite know what to do: part of her wanted to give up and live out her days in the quiet of her own home - and she could: the pay from eight years of undercover work had piled up in her bank account to effectively remove all actual need for an income, but four weeks of purposeless hobbling around Edinburgh - when the pain had been bearable - with no prospect of activity or duty at a known date in the future had been incredibly dull. She knew she did not want to continue in the intelligence service: much as the experience had challenged her, she was becoming tired of all the secrets, and a desk job there, now active service was no longer an option, would be impossibly mundane and boring. That left the RCMP: whether it would be possible to return to the rank of inspector immediately, given her absence, she did not know, but even returning at a rank or two lower would be better than doing nothing: she could but ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of having Ray Kowalski as one of Meg's pall bearers was inspired by the fact that Fraser is one of Louis Gardino's pall bearers in 'Juliet is Bleeding'. The odd one out is Maggie since Meg does know and respect Frobisher.


	2. Home comforts

Two days, Meg decided the following morning, two days to enlarge her scanty stock of clothes, retrieve some of her belongings that had been put into storage, check in with the hospital, and then she would start working out exactly how she was going to present her case to senior members of the RCMP. Some of the time she spent organising her apartment, making it more home-like - or at least a little less impersonal. That said, she did discard about a third of what she had deemed worth keeping before she left: various trinkets and ornaments that she had kept, thinking they had some worth, captured some valued memory, but now conjured no memories and were just so many pieces of paper and bits of plaster.

When she sat down two days later to start making her case for returning to duty as a member of the RCMP, she found it more troublesome than she had anticipated: the motivation for her return was straightforward, and, given the nature of her work over the last eight years, her qualifications and experience were not really incongruous. But justifying against her injuries required research. The CSIS would be able to confirm the exact extent and nature of her injuries, certify her psychological fitness, and provide the RCMP with no information about what she had actually been doing - just that she had worked for them. Although she was fairly confident that the RCMP could not refuse her request on medical grounds, she was concerned that, if they decided that she had been involved in too much trouble during her time in Chicago, they might use her recent injuries against her.

"I need examples," she said aloud after half an hour's consideration of the problem.

Without access to any personnel files, she knew that her examples would have to come from those with whom she was directly acquainted. To wit: Sergeants Fraser and Frobisher. She picked up her phone before she realised she had no means of contacting either of them.

"MacKenzie!" she exclaimed, whacking a hand against her forehead. She rummaged frantically in the bag she had used when she arrived. The slip of paper Maggie had given her was not there. Almost ready to sit down and cry, Meg held off tears by forcing her mind to remember every second of her interaction with the corporal. There - back right-hand pocket of her jeans - the memory techniques she had learnt as part of her intelligence service training once again proving useful. She found the jeans in the laundry basket and pulled out the scrap of paper; without thinking she dialled Corporal MacKenzie's number.

By the time the phone was answered on the third ring, Meg had realised that this was not going to be a straightforward conversation. She took a deep breath and did not hang up.

"Corporal MacKenzie, it's Meg Thatcher."

"Ma'am," Maggie acknowledged; she'd been half-expecting the phone call and had been deliberately keeping her phone to hand, rather than leaving it on her bedside table as she usually did when she went out.

"Oh dear," Meg murmured, clearly Corporal MacKenzie was not going to make this easy.

"You sound like my brother," Maggie said with a quiet laugh, that Meg almost missed under the noise of a passing car.

"Oh dear," Meg repeated. Easy as it would be do get off topic, it was crucial that she asked the questions that she needed answered. "Corporal," she said sternly, "I need some information."

"Yes, ma'am," Maggie was once again precise, cool and polite.

"Information that I could perfectly well understand you not giving me," Meg continued.

"Ma'am?" another quiet interrogative, punctuating the background of footsteps and traffic.

"It is of a personal nature," Meg paused uncertainly, then cleared her throat before continuing, "of a personal nature," she resumed, "and about persons with whom you have a closer connection that I."

"Ma'am," Maggie prompted again when Meg did not finish her explanation.

"As you may have gathered, I have been injured recently - all in the line of duty, you understand," Meg added hastily.

"And you want to know what limitations may be on your return to active service with the RCMP?" Meg was relieved when Maggie finally spoke more than just an isolated monosyllable or two.

"Exactly."

"And, since you no longer have access to personnel records, you cannot make a case for your return based on the fact that your injuries are not exceptional for active service," Maggie explained; having reached a park she settled herself on a bench to focus more fully on the conversation.

"I could not have put it better myself, Corporal," Meg said crisply.

"So you would like me to check the levels of historic injury among currently serving members of the RCMP." Maggie concluded.

"Actually, no, I only need information on two officers," Meg took a deep breath, but Maggie beat her to the conclusion:

"Sergeants Benton Fraser and Buck Frobisher."

"Can you give me the information?" Meg asked urgently.

"Not officially, since I've never had access to their records, but I can summarise according to the information I have been made privy to."

"Thank you, Corporal. Would you like to come over this afternoon? It might be simpler to discuss this in person."

"Three p.m.?"

"Yes. And, MacKenzie," Meg added hastily, before the younger woman had a chance to hang up, "if I had to guess, I would say that you've saved yourself a lot of trouble by not making it public knowledge that Fraser is your brother."

"How come?" Maggie asked, confused. She hadn't avowed the relationship because there was no need, and she had been sure that expectations of her could only increase because of it. Buck Frobisher's interest in her career had earned her enough snide comments; and being partnered with Fraser had raised additional eyebrows, she had never needed more trouble.

"Two legends on the force?" Meg said with a mirthless laugh, "both protégés of one legend..."

"Buck Frobisher," Maggie interrupted.

"And the son and daughter of another legend," Meg concluded.

"But I'm no legend," Maggie objected.

Meg paced her lounge for a moment, considering her words carefully: "I remember a conversation with Buck Frobisher, years ago, where he said something that struck me as peculiar: it was only after Fraser was transferred to Chicago that he became aware of his status as a living legend. Just review your record - and ignore what is says," Meg finished before hanging up abruptly, leaving Maggie sitting on a park bench, staring at the phone in her hand. She shook her head and whistled Suki to heel. Meg Thatcher was a peculiar woman; she could well understand why Benton liked her - and why he kept his distance.

Meg spent the remainder of the morning tidying her already tidy apartment, making sure that anything of a particularly personal nature was safely out of sight. It was not that she thought that she could not trust Corporal MacKenzie, but she felt she did not know her well enough to permit her an insight into her personal thoughts. Short though the time should have been to accomplish such a simple task, even though there were few items that could be considered as anything other than ordinary, and fewer that had been unpacked, it was three p.m. before she realised it.

Looking for a pair of drop earrings that she thought she had kept, she found herself sitting on her sofa, reminiscing. They were in a large shoe box, sharing the space with a variety of mismatched items: a ring with a blue stone; her green brooch; a pair of glasses; a cinema ticket for a film she couldn't remember; a small collection of RCMP uniform badges; a pair of spurs; some photos and a handful of certificates stuffed haphazardly into a folder; and a piece of thin white rope, ends frayed. All hiding under a hat without a crown. All told, the sum total of what she had deemed worth keeping after nineteen years as a Mountie. Everything except the hat was hers by right; the hat she had 'rescued' when Fraser's room at the consulate had been cleared out. Everything else had, admittedly, been dutifully boxed up and sent to Sergeant Frobisher to await Fraser's return from the Beaufort Sea. Underhand it may have been, but she had been surprised to discover that Fraser had kept the ruined stetson and Meg had succumbed to the temptation to keep the memento of that strange day on the train.

The doorbell rang at exactly three o'clock and Meg clamped down on the nervousness that was threatening now that her visitor had arrived. In the minute between letting Corporal MacKenzie in and the soft knock at her door, Meg hastily stowed the shoe box under a side table. She welcomed the Corporal who was dressed once again in jeans and a plaid shirt - how like her brother on the rare occasions when she had seen him out of uniform - and hung her jacket on one of the hooks beside the door.

"Tea?" Meg asked.

"Yes, please, ma'am," Maggie replied.

"The lounge is just through there," Meg said and indicated for Maggie to walk through, "I'll be along in a minute with the tea."

"Thank you, ma'am."

As she made two mugs of tea and laid out some biscuits on a plate, Meg reflected that it really was silly to be called 'Ma'am' all the time: by the time she joined Maggie in the lounge, she had made her decision.

"Before we talk about what you came here to discuss," Meg started as she took a seat on the sofa, "I want to be quite clear on one thing: I am not, and never have been your commanding officer, in fact, at the moment, I am nothing more than a civilian. It is therefore quite ridiculous, since one of us is in the position of a private citizen and the other is not strictly in an official capacity, to be as formal as we have been."

"So what do you suggest, ma'am?" Maggie asked after a moment's consideration.

"Could you use my name, please?" Meg explained in a softer tone than she had used when she broached the subject.

"Meg? Of course. But you must call me Maggie, and," Maggie emphasised the conjunction and kept here blue eyes fixed on Meg's face as she added her second condition, "call my brother by his name - either Benton or Ben will do, Fraser, Sergeant Fraser or Constable Fraser I will only accept if your time in Chicago is the topic of conversation." Maggie's blue eyes twinkled mischievously and she had to duck her head to hide a smile when she saw Meg's dark brown eyes widen. The expressions on both faces were fleeting and soon gone. Meg swallowed before agreeing.

"Good," Maggie said simply, and took a sip of her tea. "Now, about injuries... I don't know the exact dates, and in Buck's case I am not too clear as to the order, but I have, I think, managed to account for most of the major injuries each has sustained during the course of his career." She drew out a single piece of paper from her shirt pocket and Meg saw that each side contained a list of sorts. One one side, Fraser's she guessed, the entries were arranged by year and month, on the other, entries appeared to be collected according to location, some of which were accompanied by years.

Meg took the paper and glanced over both sides: "He's been shot twice since leaving Chicago," she murmured, her forehead creased in a frown.

"Yes," said Maggie, "I sometimes wonder that he's still out in the field, but I think that his superiors have worked out that any order consigning him to desk work would be ignored. Besides," she added after a pause, "he's just about the best wilderness officer on the force, they can't just ignore his record, much as they probably would like to."

Meg said nothing in response, just smiled slightly as she remembered Fraser's - Ben's - dutiful completion of all tasks associated with his formal work at the consulate before he embarked on his next escapade or, as she strongly suspected, what he considered the other part of his duty as deputy liaison officer. "So I should be OK," she said eventually.

"Benton's always had to pass the basic fitness test before officially returning to active duty. Buck managed to avoid it somehow; I think in the end they let him off because he was nearing retirement and was so good at training the cadets."

They sat and sipped their tea quietly for a few more minutes before Maggie rose to leave. As she was putting her jacket on, Meg dared to ask a question that she'd been considering since Suki had first found her at the airport:

"Diefenbaker - I assume he's dead."

"Yes," Maggie answered sadly; "About four years ago, but Fraser kept Suki's father, Pearson, and there's also Eliza."

"I'm glad he's found someone to share his life," Meg said stiffly. She frowned when Maggie laughed.

"No, Eliza's Suki's half sister; it's short for Elizabeth."

"I see, since Canada hasn't had a female prime minister yet, he's named her after the Queen."

"It was that or Margaret," Maggie replied, "I told him that I refused to share a name with one of his dogs." It was only part of the truth, but Meg didn't need to know that her exact argument had been that if he named the dog Margaret then people might start wondering whether she had been named after his official partner or his one-time commanding officer. Benton had conceded the point and avoided any potential for more rumours about his relationship with either woman.

"Quite right too," Meg said approvingly, admiring Maggie's ability to influence her brother. "Thank you very much for the information, I'm hoping that in less than three months I'll once again be a member of the RCMP."

"I don't doubt it," Maggie just stopped herself from saying ma'am. "Thank you kindly for the tea, Meg, and good luck."

Meg smiled farewell and watched as Maggie walked briskly down the corridor to the stairs. When she closed the door, she became aware that her ribs were aching, reminding her of exactly how far she had yet to go before she could even consider facing the RCMP's fitness board. Returning to the lounge, she collected a book from the shelf and settled herself in the comfortable arm chair to read for a bit.

Three hours later she woke with a start. The nightmares had got better in general, but her back and leg ached, as if wood and metal had been applied to them recently. It had been a surprise: reliving the pain, the humiliation, the fear had been rare, occurring more often when she dozed off unexpectedly. Grimacing at the sore muscles in her neck, she closed the curtains and locked the door before going to bed. The nightmares rarely came twice in a night and she hated taking pills unless absolutely necessary: a sleeping tablet did not accompany her pain medication.


	3. Facing the RCMP

Twelve days later, Meg left the Toronto headquarters of the RCMP, vastly relieved. The review board had provisionally approved her return to the RCMP, not only that, but they had said that they would recommend that she return to her previous rank of inspector if a suitable opening occurred. This was all pending her meeting the standard level of fitness for a cadet - she'd asked for two months to ensure that her injuries would be fully healed - and her passing her inspector exams - again. She groaned at the thought, but it gave her something to focus on. Any recertification of her sharpshooters' badges was up to her; she thought it likely that she would, simply because it would mean that her uniform would look much as it had nine years ago. She hadn't inquired, but as she had been about to leave, the head of the board had informed her that, if all went well after the standard probationary period of six months, her service record would recommence from her previous full year - nineteen.

Now she had just over eight weeks to pass a fitness test that was nowhere near as demanding as the CSIS tests she'd been subject to over the last eight years. It was time to join a gym; her cast was coming off after the weekend and the doctors had told her that the broken bones were all healing very nicely. The muscles in her leg were knitting back together well too. She would probably get sore easily, the doctors had said, but, so long as she did not expect to run a marathon in the next year, moderate exercise should not be problematic. She knew to be careful; no records would be broken in the next few weeks - she would not even attempt to get anywhere near the necessary standard for at least a month.

Contrary to her fears and the doctors' warnings, Meg found that the stab wounds in her leg caused her few problems, the tenderness of the broken arm was more persistent. Slowly her muscles grew stronger and long before her eight weeks were up she was nearly at the level required for the CSIS. More of her time was spent preparing for the exams, but even that left her with time on her hands: memorising large quantities of dry facts was much easier than it had been nearly fifteen years ago. She read a page, knowing that she needed to remember the key points, a second, briefer read and she was confident that, even months later, under extreme pressure, she would recall the exact information needed.

Meg was surprised by the letter confirming the dates of her fitness test and exams: instead of staying in Toronto, she was being sent to the RCMP's Depot division on the outskirts of Regina. It made more sense by the time she reached the end of the second page: they were proposing to kill several birds with one stone by revalidating her firearms licence and issuing her with her uniforms at the same time. It seemed that she was getting the opportunity to earn her sharpshooters' badges without making any particular effort.

Arriving at the Depot, Meg felt almost as if she were stepping back in time to nearly thirty years earlier, to her first arrival as a cadet. She'd been full of ideals then, she recalled; now she was more cynical. The place looked almost exactly as she remembered it: some of the trees were bigger, a few had had fallen or been cut down, but the atmosphere of unhurried yet focussed calm was the same. She reported on arrival, was issued with uniforms, both blue and scarlet, and found her room: it was simple with a small chest of drawers and a writing table with a straight backed chair as well as the single bed. Due to her proposed rank, she did have the luxury of her own bathroom, albeit one barely larger than a walk in closet. It took her ten minutes to unpack, after which she decided a stretch of the legs was needed after the day's travelling. She changed into her running gear, tied her hair up and set off. It was growing dark, but she wasn't bothered: the Depot was safe and there had been lit routes around the site when she had been a cadet.

Following the main route around the centre first, Meg was convinced her eyes were playing tricks on her when she thought she saw Fraser - a tall, dark-haired man with two white dogs at his heels. She doubled back and followed the path down between two buildings - stables by the smell - but when she reached where she thought he'd been, there was no sign of him. Shaking her head and internally rebuking herself for her fanciful thoughts conjuring up a figure who couldn't be there, she retraced her steps and continued her run. Three laps later, she called it an evening and returned to her room. Having showered, she made her way to the mess hall for dinner.

She was slightly late, but the sergeant in charge realised who she was and did not say anything. She nodded in acknowledgement and, having collected her meal, found an unoccupied seat. Most of the rest of the room's occupants were young men and women, cadets part way through their initial training. Conversations were loud: tales of training and stories from home being swapped with alarming rapidity. Glancing around between mouthfuls, she kept looking for familiar faces amongst the groups of instructors - easily identified due to their age and quieter conversations, but there were none whom she recognised. It made her feel a bit old and alone.

Breakfast the following day was a hurried affair, Meg had slept well and was then rather less than enthusiastic to get out of bed. Glancing at her phone after she had hit snooze three times, she jumped up and dressed hastily. Exams first, so on went the scarlet dress uniform, peculiarly plain without even the metal shoulder and collar badges: less identification than the cadets, except for the black cuffs which marked it out as an officer's tunic and the fact that her Sam Browne was reversed - she'd checked the protocol when it had been issued, and had been told that she was expected to wear it as an officer would. Then a dash to the canteen for a banana - no time for anything more. Despite the lazy start, she was five minutes early and perfectly composed by the time the sergeant in charge met her outside the exam hall.

After issuing the standard warnings about cheating and the integrity of the examination, he left Meg to work through the paper. She had three hours, but finished in an hour and three-quarters. She waited for five minutes, reviewing the rest of the day: whatever time she didn't use for the written paper; then fifteen minutes to change before the fitness test; lunch at one p.m. and back into dress uniform for the gruelling panel assessment. All being well she thought she should be done at around five o'clock.

She returned to the current task and set about reviewing her answers, adding a few words here and there and expanding on a particularly tricky question about an incident that had occurred while she had been away - involving a misuse of funds and an abuse of police procedures following some severe flooding. A second review and she was confident that the questions had all been answered to the best of her ability and knowledge - just half an hour left of the allocated time. She tidied her papers, stood smartly and saluted to the sergeant in charge, he nodded, and she turned and left - trusting that ten years had not sufficed to alter examination protocol.

That evening, exhausted but unsettled, she took a short jog along a slightly different route to the previous day - repetition, she had come to appreciate, was extremely dull - but passing the same turning, she again thought she saw an erstwhile junior officer. Deciding that twice was once too often, especially she had no reason to associate the location and the figure, she sent a text to Maggie:

"Hi Maggie. At Depot for tests and firearms. Is there a reason why I think I've seen your brother twice, but never at mess? Hope you're well. Meg."

She checked her phone immediately after showering and was pleased to see a reply:

"Trust you've passed with flying colours. Benton runs an advanced survival and tracking course. Don't know schedule though, thought mostly winter. M."

"That's really helpful," Meg grumbled as she returned the phone to the bedside table and left for supper. The review panel had been tough - though not as nerve-racking as the first time she'd faced it. She supposed that expecting to die a long way from home and in a hostile country did put stressful situations in perspective. Now she was hungry. Again she sat off by herself in a corner of the mess hall, observing the new recruits more closely that before, trying to gauge their characters. Who would press ahead and climb to the top? Who would remain lowly constables for many years, not courting promotion? Who would find their strengths as instructors? Who came from the human roughness of the cities and which from the unforgiving wilderness? She watched them until the hall was nearly empty before she put her tray in the racks and left.

The following morning, Meg again put on her dress uniform and made her way to the firing range. The range officer started his standard briefing before asking whether she wanted to start with rifle or pistol - she chose pistol. Before she was issued with a weapon, she was quizzed on the legal status of fire arms in Canada and as a police officer. Having then satisfied her instructor - a gruff Staff-Sergeant Collins whom she had a suspicion may have been a trainee instructor a quarter of a century ago - that she was aware of the legal aspects, her every move handling, cleaning and using the weapon allocated to her was scrutinised. On first firing the gun, she found her hands were slightly unsteady, although her shots did not go far wide. A few shots later and she had again become familiar with the feel of the gun in her hand.

"You plan to renew your sharpshooters' qualification?" Collins asked after she'd warmed up.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, your shooting at this distance is fine: you'll need to do another ten for the assessment; then it's ten shots at each of two longer distances and the moving targets."

Meg nodded, and helped change the target.

"Any further questions before we start?"

"No, sir."

"Let's begin," Collins handed her a new clip and stood back from the shooting line.

Meg was surprised at how easy it was in the end: given that she hadn't held a gun in nearly three years and that she had always been better with a rifle than with a pistol, it all seemed absurdly simple. The rifle assessment after lunch followed much the same pattern, just at much greater distances. When the rifle had been returned to the armoury, Staff-Sergeant Collins turned to Meg with a warm smile.

"Well done, Thatcher," he said, "it's not everyone who can boast of improving over the course of twenty-five years when they haven't held a gun in the last three."

"You remember me?" Meg asked.

"Just - you were part of the first cohort I taught. You always were so serious, so focussed, I was not surprised you went far."

"Thank you, sir, I think," Meg replied politely.

"There really is nothing more I can teach you: you've met the requirements for the upper standard," Collins said and Meg gulped, she hadn't expected that. "Fraser might be able to teach you a few more tricks," he continued, "especially for steadying vertical motion under pressure - although he doesn't hold the barrel of a rifle like we're trained to. I think he's around for a week or so - I can see if I can arrange a session for you if you're interested?"

"Fraser?" Meg stammered.

"Yes, Sergeant Fraser. He doesn't teach firearms, though his is qualified as an instructor, but he is held to be the best shot on the force. Why it took him so many years to get his crosses crowned beats me," he mused.

"I don't know what to say," Meg was completely taken aback.

"Say yes," Collins said with a laugh, it really was an offer not to turn down.

"Thank you sir," Meg said simply, with a small smile.

"I'll send him to find you at breakfast - you're eating in the main mess, I think."

"Yes, sir," Meg said again before she saluted and left.

Staff-Sergeant Collins watched Meg's retreating figure until she turned the corner back to the main building. A strange one that; he knew she'd been off for a few years and was back at the Depot to jump through all the hoops in order to return to the force. He had been surprised at how well she'd shot: her past record was for the standard sharpshooters' level, admittedly with both rifle and pistol, but to exceed the level of the upper standard as she had done was unusual. Shaking his head, he waved farewell to the armourer and wandered off towards the stables to look for Fraser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of conversation: it seemed pointless as it would all be rather formal and I would only be introducing characters unnecessarily. Obviously, all procedures are fictional.


	4. Two meetings and a reunion

At breakfast the next morning, Meg could hardly eat. She'd taken a banana, well aware that she needed to eat something, but after the first small bite, she could not face another. She sipped her tea nervously, hardly daring to look up. One moment she wished she had had the foresight to bring something to read, the next she realised that it would have been pointless as she probably would not have been able to focus on the words. Despite feeling extremely alert, confident that, even without looking up, she could place every one of the sixty or so people in the large room, Fraser was standing across the table from her before she registered his presence. She dropped her mug, thankful that there was so little fluid left in it that tea did not splash everywhere.

"Inspector Thatcher?"

"Fraser," Meg replied sternly, "I'm not technically anything at the moment - even less than a cadet," she added with a wry smile.

"Sorry, ma'am," Fraser said, rubbing his eyebrow with the thumbnail of the hand that was not holding his stetson. "Staff-Sergeant Collins gave your rank as inspector. May I sit down?" he asked after a moment's pause.

"Of course."

Fraser took as seat opposite Meg and she dared to look up and study him. The better part of ten years had left their mark on Fraser's features, but had been kind to him overall. His hair was greying slightly - a few strands of silver creeping in through the black; the lines around his mouth and eyes were deeper; he looked tired with dark shadows under his eyes, but he didn't seem ready to give up. He still wore his old brown uniform, she observed wryly: now it wasn't even a matter of fashion; it was no longer regulation, but he still wore it. Leeway given to a living legend she supposed. The badges had changed too, the unmissable sergeant stripes on the right arm with the crown above; his sharpshooters' badges were both with crowns now and he'd gained an instructor badge too, as well as two more long service stars.

"Staff-Sergeant Collins said that you might be one of the best shots in the force."

"I wouldn't say that, I just had a particularly good day."

"Hmm," Fraser didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow.

"Fraser, it may have taken me the best part of five years to earn my sharpshooters' badges, but it doesn't necessarily follow that it would take me as long to regain the standard," Meg said a little testily.

"I never suggested that, ma'am," Fraser said. "It is often said that a skill once learned is hard to forget."

Meg sighed, now she'd done it - snapped at Fraser for no reason, again - assumed that he was questioning her ability after he'd basically complimented her.

"Well," she said eventually, "I guess we'd better get started."

"Understood." Fraser said simply and stood. Meg followed suit, returning her mug and dropping her unfinished banana in a bin as she passed. They walked to the armoury in silence. Once there, Fraser asked whether to start with pistols or rifles.

"Rifles," Meg said, "I find pistols have a tendency to induce carelessness, or a feeling of invincibility; rifles are meant for precision."

"In which case, sir, we should start with pistols," Fraser said, and Meg suppressed a groan. He was going to put her through the wringer, of that she had no doubt. Fraser signed out a pistol for Meg and his own service hand gun. "I know you went through this yesterday, sir, but you understand that I must repeat the briefing," Fraser said apologetically.

"Just get on with it, Fraser," Meg snapped.

"Understood." Fraser stood perfectly still while he recited the the range protocols before leading her to the mid-distance range and handing Meg a pair of earmuffs. "I want you to shoot six slowly, lower your weapon, then shoot six quickly," he instructed. Meg nodded and took her place on the firing line and took the twelve shots as instructed. Once finished, she put the safety back on and turned to face Fraser. He took his earmuffs off and she stepped back from the line, mirroring his actions.

"Say something, Sergeant," Meg snapped, when Fraser didn't say anything immediately.

"Sorry, sir," Fraser said.

"Well?" Meg prodded.

There followed a lengthly analysis and a single suggestion. Two hours, nearly two hundred shots and three different variations on stance later, Meg was ready to kick something - or punch Fraser's lights out.

"Very good, Inspector," Fraser said eventually. Meg pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to banish her brewing headache. Fraser frowned when he noticed the movement. "Oh dear," he murmured.

"I don't know about you, Fraser," Meg managed to force herself to say after she had handed back her weapon, "but I could really could do with a coffee before more shooting."

"As you wish, sir," Fraser replied blandly.

Coffee in a corner of the almost empty mess hall was an uncomfortable affair. Meg was surprised to find that nearly a decade had done little to untie the knots that had always seemed to form in her tongue whenever she was faced with a Fraser whom she was not about to reprimand. Fraser seemed even less inclined to speak than in Chicago. She could understand his reticence to a degree, but to say nothing, to offer no comment or reminiscence, to make not even the slightest inquiry as to her whereabouts for the last decade was rather uninquisitive, even for Fraser.

"Fraser," Meg said eventually, "we cannot go on without saying a word to each other. People will think we hate each other."

Fraser still said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

"I don't hate you," Meg stated, guessing the unasked question. "If I hadn't had the memory of your goodness to remind me of the good that can exist, I think I would have given up and died," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Ma'am?" Fraser asked, his voice soft and his creased brow showing his concern, Meg remarked certain similarities to his sister.

"That is about as much as I can say about what I've been doing for the last eight years," Meg said firmly, closing the discussion.

"Understood," Fraser said and nodded, "shall we?"

Although Meg didn't especially want to spend another two or more hours shooting, she said nothing but quietly followed Fraser back to the 

He signed out a rifle without a sight, and picked up his own Winchester which, like his hand gun, he had presumably deposited at the armoury on his arrival. Meg again wondered what Fraser was doing at the depot: as an instructor, he would normally be entitled to his own room and could therefore keep his weapons and ammunition there. Not trusting the integrity of the system seemed unlike the Fraser whom she had known in Chicago, which probably meant that, like his absence at meal times, he was, once again, not conforming to the status quo. "Yesterday," he said as they walked towards the rifle range, "you shot with a modern sight and at known distances. You did not miss a single shot, not even the moving targets. It's not generally known, but you only need to hit a third of the saucers to earn your sharpshooters'; twenty for the advanced level. Few hit more than twenty-five, and I think I can count on two hands those who have hit them all in the last four years."

Meg nodded, secretly taken aback; certain that Fraser himself was one of the officers he was referring to.

"Is your sister amongst them?" she blurted out without thinking.

Fraser stopped dead in his tracks. "I don't have a sister," he said coldly, causing Meg to spin round and glare at him.

"Fraser," she said with a sigh, "I know Corporal Maggie MacKenzie is your sister - well half-sister. She told me when she picked me up from the airport, thinking I already knew."

"So she also told you why we think it prudent to not say anything about the relationship?" Fraser checked.

"She did," Meg confirmed.

"Understood," Fraser resumed his walk and Meg fell back into step beside him. He ran a finger under the collar of his shirt, considering what he could say. "To answer your original question, yes, but it took a few years of practice. To explain more about today, by not using a telescopic sight, any inconsistencies in your technique will become obvious."

"Let me guess," Meg said, "it's also the real test because you, your father, Buck Frobisher and Maggie MacKenzie don't use fancy sights anyway and have still managed to hit all thirty?"

"No, not really. Maggie and I've managed that," Fraser said and Meg couldn't quite decide whether he was boasting or feeling embarrassed, "but Buck retired three years ago and never earned his crowns. My father was better with pistols than a rifle, but he's been dead for nearly fifteen years," he concluded sadly.

When they reached the range, Fraser chose the furthest set of targets - incidentally, the only distance the cadets were not using, although there were spare targets at all distances. Meg took a deep breath when Fraser handed her some bullets and his Winchester; this was not going to be easy. Just as she went to take her place at the firing line, Fraser stopped her:

"The rifle is going to feel strange; these older models are somewhat less uniformly made than the standard issue ones. They also have rather more recoil - my father always said that this rifle could kick like an irritated heifer - but don't pre-empt it, you'll only over-compensate." Meg could not help but mentally shake her head at Fraser's choice of words.

"Thanks for the warning, I'll bear it in mind." Feeling even less confident, Meg took her place at the firing line.

Her first three shots missed completely, and her fourth hit the top left of the target. After her fifth shot, which went a bit too far right, Meg stopped and turned to Fraser.

"It's no use," she said, I give up."

"No you don't, sir," Fraser said sternly, "you need to take more time. Besides, how can you say it's no use when you've got two hits from five shots at a distance rarely used in training, with a gun you've never shot before and only the most basic sight?" He stopped for a minute, head tilted slightly to one side as if expecting an answer, but Meg stubbornly said nothing. "Look," he continued more gently, "I'll take a shot - watch my breaths. You have a tendency to hurry and get tense." Instead of reaching out to take his own rifle back from Meg, he used the one currently in his hands. Slipping a clip in, he stood on the firing line. Meg thought he was never going to shoot, he stood still so long. When he did fire, she jumped, the crack of the shot was so unexpected - she hadn't even seen his finger move on the trigger.

"You rest the rifle across your forearm," Meg observed, "why? Staff-Sergeant Collins mentioned that you don't follow the standard technique."

"I find it more stable than holding the barrel directly - also more comfortable as the recoil is absorbed a bit, and it allows greater control since there is less movement in the centre of the barrel," Fraser explained. "You try."

Meg reluctantly slipped another five bullets into the old Winchester and returned to the firing line. It felt strange, resting the barrel across her arm, Fraser stood close behind her for the first two shots, and Meg was relieved when he stepped back. Her first three shots again went wild, but the next five were hits, although not especially good ones. Four full rounds - 32 bullets - later, and Meg was surprised when it was Fraser who called it a day.

"It's not easy," he said as they walked back to the armoury, seeming to sense Meg's disappointment in herself. "I took you out of your comfort zone and then set you a task that would not be easy even with a weapon you knew well. You did well."

"And now I need to practice," Meg muttered.

"Well, yes, that would be beneficial, but only if you want to. Staff-Sergeant Collins is difficult to outshoot when he's using modern weapons, but he never has taken me up on a long-standing offer to watch him shoot an older model: there are a few still lurking in the back of the armoury, although I didn't take the liberty of making use of that today since my rifle was much closer to hand. You're the fourth person he's recommended to me, but the first to keep their nerve and actually hit the target when using my father's rifle."

"Maybe most officers are daunted by your reputation and the history of the rifle?" Meg suggested after a couple more steps, remembering how learning that she was using Sergeant Bob Fraser's rifle had not helped her confidence.

"You weren't."

"We worked together for more than three years, I think that inured me to your reputation."

After returning their weapons and unused bullets, they stood awkwardly for a moment. Meg's stomach gurgled and Fraser looked at his watch.

"Ah, lunch time," he said, "I must go."

"Fraser," Meg said quickly, before he could turn on his heel and stride off, "thank you, for this morning."

"It's been a pleasure and an honour, ma'am, but I must see to Pearson and Eliza."

"Diefenbaker's son and granddaughter," Meg chipped in, before Fraser could offer her the information.

"How did you know?" Fraser asked, confused.

"Maggie," Meg replied, "Suki found me at Toronto airport."

"Ah," said Fraser, as if that explained everything. Meg wasn't sure that it did, but Fraser's mind did work in strange ways. Fraser worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment. "Would you..." he started, just as Meg said:

"I should..."

"No, you first," they both said at the same time.

"If you were about to say what I think you may have been about to say," Meg said when Fraser remained stubbornly silent, "then yours was definitely the less mundane remark."

"Really, it's nothing particular," Fraser said, "I know you were not fond of Diefenbaker, but," he suddenly stopped and looked at his feet.

"But?" Meg prompted.

"Would you care to... Would it be too much to ask if... Do you mind if I introduce you to Pearson and Eliza? I need to check on them before lunch," he finished in a rush.

"That could be nice," Meg acquiesced gracefully. Without further comment, Fraser started walking. "I thought you might have them with you," she remarked conversationally after a couple of minutes. "Before Sergeant Collins told me that you were here, I thought I was going mad. I could almost have sworn I saw you with two dogs on two consecutive evenings, but I only glimpsed you for a split second and couldn't be sure. Maggie said you're stationed near Fort Good Hope."

"I'm no ghost," Fraser chucked, "you're most definitely not mad either. Yes, I work out of Fort Good Hope - most of the time, sometimes I get called elsewhere, usually the territories." Nothing more was said until they reached the passageway where Meg had thought she'd seen him before.

"Ma'am," Fraser said softly, halting before a small door, "I apologise if they are rather excitable." With that, he opened the door, and Meg found that the building was indeed a small stable block. Fraser slid open the door to an empty stall while Meg hung back. "Now you be polite," she thought she heard Fraser say to the two dogs that yipped a greeting to him as he knelt and ruffled their ears. Meg was amused when the two dogs sat down with tongues lolling and tails sweeping the floor. Feeling a fraction less nervous, she took a small step forward.

"Pearson," Fraser said softly and the larger and whiter of the two dogs trotted over to Meg. When he sat in front of her looking pleased with himself, Meg held out her hand for him to sniff and got it licked before a single loud bark made her jump back.

"I think that means he likes you," Fraser said, glancing over his shoulder from where he knelt to see Pearson's tail wagging madly. "He won't harm you," he said reassuringly. Meg took a deep breath and stepped forward again, hand outstretched nervously. Seeing her motion, Pearson shuffled forward and met her halfway, leaning against her knees and squirming while she played with his ears.

"He looks quite like his father," she observed after a minute's quiet.

"He is, although the fact that he can hear is something of a relief," Fraser said wryly as he stood up. "Pearson," he said a moment later, and pointed to his feet when the dog looked round. With a last, apparently apologetic, look up at Meg, Pearson stood and returned to Fraser. "Eliza," Fraser said and gestured the younger dog towards Meg.

The first thing Meg noticed was how alert Eliza looked - she seemed to be taking in everything around her at each step, ears flicking continuously, her dark markings only enhancing the look of awareness. She approached slowly, each delicate step deliberate. After sniffing cautiously at Meg's hand, she simply sat quietly by Meg's feet, letting Meg stroke her head.

"Oh dear," Fraser murmured, glancing up from Pearson and then quickly down to his feet.

"What is it, Fraser?" Meg asked.

"Oh, it's probably nothing," Fraser prevaricated.

"Fraser," Meg warned, she remembered that particular tone of voice when he uttered that seemingly innocuous or reassuring phrase; it usually did not bode well.

Fraser cleared his throat: "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he stopped and looked up to meet her gaze, "But it appears... I'm not entirely... She's normally... This is unusual..."

"Spit it out, Fraser," Meg snapped, only to be rewarded by a low growl from Pearson.

"Pearson, shh. Eliza, heel," Fraser said, and frowned when Eliza did not move. "Eliza," he said more sternly, "heel." Eliza whined, but stayed stubbornly at Meg's feet, although Meg had stopped playing with her ears when Fraser had started his non-explanations. "Oh dear," Fraser repeated.

"Sergeant Fraser, could you possibly provide something of an explanation?" Meg asked as evenly as she could.

"Well, I'm not certain whether it is an explanation, sir, but it appears that Eliza has taken a liking to you," Fraser said, tugging at his collar uncomfortably.

"How so?"

"Normally, on making a new acquaintance, Eliza takes a cursory sniff and returns to me without a glance behind - she is rather wary and a bit shy. Now," Fraser hesitated before he pointed out the obvious, "she is deliberately ignoring me."

"I did not mean to upset your dogs," Meg apologised softly.

"Think nothing of it, sir, I'm not certain that they're actually upset," he remarked.

"What do I do?" Meg asked after a moment's thought.

"I'm not certain whether this will work... If I could trouble you to... Would it be too much to ask if..." Fraser looked worried and rubbed a thumbnail nervously along an eyebrow. He knew that Inspector Thatcher was not especially fond of animals: Diefenbaker had never been a favourite with her and he had noticed that, while she had agreed readily enough to meet Pearson and Eliza, she was wary of them.

"Fraser, I'd like my lunch sometime today if possible - what do I need to do?" Meg asked, somewhat amused at Fraser's uncertainty in asking her to do something.

"Call her by her name, then point to me," Fraser said after a deep breath.

"Eliza," Meg said softly, and raised an arm to point towards Fraser, not three metres away. "Go," she added when the dog looked up at her. To her relief, Eliza stood up and, with a beseeching look back, slowly walked over to her owner who greeted her with a good rub and got his face washed in return.

"Down 'Liza," he laughed. Fraser checked that the dogs had enough water and closed the stable door. "Lunch?" he asked.

"Definitely," Meg replied and they walked briskly to the mess hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should come as no surprise that the sharpshooters' requirements are made up. Eliza's behaviour is partly inspired by a working gun dog who will sometimes ignore his owners when a visitor comes, even though he knows better, and is also akin to Dief's behaviour in 'Hunting Season'.


	5. Avoiding cross-purposes

They ate in silence, each busy with their own thoughts, but Meg didn't feel as uncomfortable as she had earlier, perhaps because it was so noisy that quiet conversation was clearly impractical. It was only once they had finished eating and were sipping at coffee - her, tea - him, that Meg became aware of the inquisitive looks being sent in their direction. She could think of several reasons, nearly all to do with the man sitting opposite her since she hadn't drawn much attention when she'd eaten there before. If Fraser chose not to eat with the other instructors, she could well understand it from the number of curious glances, although she thought she detected envy in some of the cadets' eyes. An object of curiosity would not long be left uninterrupted; coupled with his reputation and unfailing politeness, Meg doubted that, even if both Pearson and Eliza growled and showed their teeth, he would not long remain undisturbed at meal times.

"You hide," she said softly.

"Ma'am?" Fraser's thoughts had clearly been elsewhere.

Meg gestured at the hall behind him: "You hide," she repeated.

Fraser ducked his head and had the grace to look abashed. "I do," he allowed. "I made the mistake of trying to do as expected the first time I taught here. Never again, I only managed to eat four meals in the whole two weeks. I'm still not quite certain how I managed to get back to Resolute."

"Thank you, Fraser, for putting yourself in an uncomfortable position," Meg really did appreciate the company, even if very little had been said.

"Understood." They lapsed back into silence while they finished their drinks. Without a word, they stood and left together, Fraser neatly stacking and returning their trays. As they walked away from the canteen, they became aware of a sudden increase in the volume of conversation.

"And I thought they were already loud," Meg observed.

"I wouldn't want to know what they're talking about," Fraser replied. Meg smiled and shook her head: typical Fraser she thought, able to defy the world and not care what it thought of him. There were few people of whom the same could be said; the few she knew all seemed to be linked to Sergeant Benton Fraser, RCMP. Was that a coincidence?

When they came to where their routes diverged, Fraser hesitated and Meg waited patiently, certain that he would say what was on his mind, eventually.

"Ma'am," he started, "if it's not too much to ask... I don't mean to presumptuous... If it's of any interest to you..." Fraser took a deep breath before finally blurting out: "Would you like to come riding with me this afternoon?"

"Fraser," Meg said hesitantly, "I haven't ridden a horse for years."

"Understood," Fraser said and turned to leave.

"Fraser, no," Meg said quickly, relieved when Fraser stopped although he didn't turn to face her. "I'm just not certain whether it's a good idea."

"If you're going to spend between nine and twelve hours a day sat at a desk," Fraser stated mildly, still without turning round, "it most certainly is a good idea."

"In which case, I will see you at the stables in half an hour."

"Understood," Fraser said and strode off, leaving Meg confused by his uncharacteristic rudeness in keeping his back to her. After standing motionless for a moment, Meg shook her head and returned to her room. She sat on her bed, considering what would be most suitable for horse riding. In the end, she kept her uniform trousers and boots on as the most suitable of her clothes and swapped her red serge tunic for a long sleeved shirt and a light jumper that easily covered the scars on her wrists. Deciding that it was the best she could do, even if it was not exactly correct use of uniform, she took a deep breath and walked quickly over to the stables.

Meg saw Fraser before he became aware of her presence. He had taken off his jacket and was tacking up a stocky chestnut horse who was fidgeting; she almost turned and left then, but Eliza sensed her - whether seen or smelt, Meg decided not to guess - and Fraser looked up and smiled when he heard the dog's paws clicking across the concrete floor.

"Hey, 'Liza," Meg murmured as she scratched the dog's ears.

"I'm glad you could join us," Fraser said once she had almost reached him, Eliza walking steadily at her heels. "Corporal Jones suggested Spartan as a suitable mount," he continued conversationally, leading the way over to a tall dark brown horse with a black mane and tail and a single white sock - dark bay, that was the colour, Meg remembered. "He'll be twenty next week," Fraser continued when he saw the trepidation in Meg's eyes. "They keep saying they'll retire him, but he enjoys his work so much it seems a shame. Plus, there's the fact that he's done just about everything except the musical ride, so he's very useful for teaching beginners. Not that he hasn't go plenty of go in him," he added, forestalling any thought or comment on Meg's part about not being thought competent - again, "he just politely waits for you to ask."

Meg approached the big bay and held out a hand for him to sniff. Deciding that the chances of being bitten appeared low, she took another step forward and patted his neck. She giggled slightly when the gelding blew into her hair; she'd forgotten how strange it felt.

"I took the liberty of estimating your stirrup length, ma'am," Fraser said when Meg turned to him, "if you wish to check, we can get started."

Thinking carefully, Meg checked and adjusted her stirrups to one hole shorter than Fraser's guess and tightened the girth. She didn't see Fraser's nod of approval to Pearson when she then checked all four hooves. Eliza insisted on walking round the horse at her heels and Meg was starting to get a little concerned that the dog might get kicked: "What about..." she started as she stood by Spartan's head, ready to unclip him and go to the mounting block she'd spied at the end of the row of stalls.

"They need a run," Fraser said after a moment's pause in which he interpreted her vague wave towards Eliza and Pearson. "If you could tell Eliza to follow, she should stop being quite so much of a limpet."

"Thank you, Fraser," Meg said, amazed at how he was able to understand her when she couldn't phrase the question she wanted to ask. "Eliza," she said, and then waited until the dog's blue eyes were fixed on her, "follow." She unclipped Spartan and, with Fraser on the other side, walked to the mounting block where the horse stood perfectly still. Fraser held the stirrup for her while she mounted.

"You'll probably need to tighten the girth," he said, before jogging back up the row of stalls to the fidgety chestnut. Meg walked Spartan forward a few steps before she swung her left leg forward and reached under the saddle flaps to pull the girth up a couple of holes. In doing so, she missed Fraser mounting, only becoming aware that he, too, was on horseback when he spoke beside her.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Meg nodded wordlessly before nudging Spartan with her heels and walking out into the afternoon air. Pearson and Eliza ran in mad circles around them, barking with excitement, but Fraser's horse seemed inclined to take exception - tossing her head and trotting impatiently until Fraser brought the dogs to a more sedate state by repeating the command to 'follow'. This time, Eliza obeyed Fraser.

"Sorry about that," Fraser said after a few minutes, interpreting Meg's slightly concerned look, "Prima has a tendency to get rather anxious."

"I'm glad I'm on Spartan, then," Meg replied dryly, trying hard to hid the full scale of the relief she'd felt when Spartan had flicked an ear but otherwise completely ignored the antics of the dogs and the other horse.

Fraser determined their route along some of the tracks around the campus. After a bit, he suggested they trot: "If Prima takes off, don't worry," he said, "we'll wait for you, eventually."

Meg was glad of the warning as, when Fraser asked for trot, his horse decided that faster was better, and upwards not a bad idea either. She was impressed that Fraser managed to stay on and, once she'd seen them slow to a trot and then a walk a hundred metres or more ahead, was able to enjoy Spartan's long strides and slow, comfortable motion. Fraser trotted back to her more sedately and then turned as she came up alongside. When she reached him, she sat, but Fraser was trotting before she walked so she gave Spartan a small kick and carried on trotting.

"Thank goodness the dogs stayed with you," Fraser said, wiping a hand across his brow, when they were walking again.

"Is your horse always like this?" Meg asked, concerned.

"Pretty much," Fraser replied, leaning his head slightly to one side as she thought. "She's five, has four full brothers who are geldings working in Toronto and Ottawa, I think. They were pleased when she was born, but not so please when she turned out so hot-headed compared to her brothers. They don't want to sell her if they can help it as they would like to have a few foals from her. It's complicated, but she'd not going to be safe - for anyone - as a patrol horse in a city so I've been offered her. I've ridden her three times and can't quite decide. This is the first time I've taken her out in company, or with the dogs, so she's not doing too badly all said."

"Do you need another horse?" Meg didn't really know much about how horses fitted in with a remote detachment although she knew Buck had had several horses when they'd gone after Muldoon.

"Not immediately, but my horse Caspar is almost as old as Spartan and soon won't be able to manage as much work as needs to be done, and Gyp can't do much more. Horses are lifelines up in the North, almost as much as a sled team."

"What is Prima short for?" Meg asked another simple question, intrigued by the name.

"Primrose, but I'm starting to think it ought to be for Prima Donna," Fraser chuckled slightly and Meg joined in: the name was strangely appropriate.

More silence. Meg enjoyed just being, feeling secure in a way that she hadn't since - she knew exactly, but refused to think, when.

"Shall we?" Fraser asked, again, startling Meg out of her reverie.

"Shall we what?"

"Trot. Perhaps a little canter if you feel like it; you lead, I'll follow."

"Of course," Meg said and gathered up her reins before asking Spartan to trot on. Glancing to her side, she noticed that Prima was trotting along quite gracefully and the two dogs were keeping up quite easily. Sitting deep in the saddle, she slid one leg back along Spartan's side and nudged the other at the girth. "Canter," she breathed, and was pleased when Spartan popped into a smooth, comfortable canter. Fraser's transition was not as collected and she heard Prima's hooves thundering behind her for a few strides before she saw them fly past. Giving Spartan a reassuring nudge, she kept cantering and soon reached where Fraser had slowed to a walk.

"Nice transitions," he observed, "I wish I could say that same of mine, but one cannot have everything."

"Indeed not," Meg agreed, stroking Spartan's neck.

"But she didn't buck," Fraser mused, giving Prima an absent pat.

"And it gave Pearson and Eliza a good leg stretch," Meg said after looking back to see the two dogs walking behind them, panting.

"That's all relative to a day in the traces."

Meg considered Fraser's statement for a moment before she nodded. She'd only been a dog sled a few times - part of the memorable adventure with Fraser caught up in the middle of it and Holloway Muldoon at the other end. She'd been too cold and uncomfortable to appreciate it at the time, but the sled teams had run for hours without stopping. Diefenbaker had been a sled dog - or sled wolf, depending on which part of his ancestry you considered - it was only natural that Pearson and Eliza formed part of Fraser's current team, the more so since Fraser's return home made a dog sled as much part of his equipment as a patrol car in a town or city.

One more gentle trot brought them back within sight of the stables. Once they had dismounted, Fraser tied up Prima before helping Meg with Spartan. "Are you OK to untack and give him a brush off?" he asked.

"I think so," Meg replied cautiously. Fraser was certainly much quicker than her at untacking and Prima was safely in her stall before Meg had got halfway through brushing Spartan under the keen eyes of Eliza, who had at least listened to the instructions to 'sit and stay' after refusing to go to Fraser when Meg had pointed to him.

"Good work, sir," Fraser said approvingly when she'd finished. He unclipped Spartan and put him in his stall too. "I imagine you would like to shower and change before dinner," he said.

"That would be correct, Sergeant," Meg said, then frowned. She hadn't called Fraser by his rank since the first time he'd watched her shoot, she realised, although he had persisted in calling her ma'am or even sir. Noting how Fraser had immediately stiffened, she added: "I'm sorry, Fraser, I didn't mean to be so formal."

"There's nothing to apologise for, sir," Fraser said stiffly, turning to leave. "I will see you at the range tomorrow morning."

"I'm returning to Toronto first thing," Meg said, causing Fraser to spin on his heel. She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I thought Sergeant Collins would have told you." Eliza whined, looking alternately at the two humans while Pearson sat unmoving at Fraser's heels.

"Understood," but there was a continued stiffness in Fraser's tone and stance that Meg had eventually come to realise meant he was upset at a mistake he had made; usually unwittingly. She took a deep breath before she spoke again.

"Can we walk?" she asked, "I find it easier to speak when moving." It was only partly true; motion gave her something to think about other than awkward silences.

"Of course," Fraser let Meg lead, remaining a quarter of a step behind, his face impassive.

"Fraser," Meg started, forcing her nerves to silence their warnings. "I'm truly sorry that I'm going back to Toronto tomorrow, but I've done what I came here to do - and more, for which I thank you," she added, daring to glance up at his still unmoving face. "Your sister never said you might be here, and it wasn't my place to ask; in fact," she sighed before continuing, "I would never even have dared to ask how you were if she hadn't mentioned you first."

"Damn Maggie for being an interfering busybody," Fraser muttered harshly.

"Fraser!" Meg exclaimed, shocked that he could speak so of his sister. "If you must damn anybody, damn the CSIS who sent me back to Toronto with a broken arm and a limp, and then saw fit to override my decision to make my own way from the airport to my apartment. Besides, Maggie thought I already knew you are her brother," she added softly. "So I came here," Meg continued, "to pass the tests so I could resume my old rank and rejoin the RCMP. That I chose to see if I could revalidate not just my firearms license but also my sharpshooters' badges is neither here nor there: they were part of my life for many years and not something I felt I could relinquish without a second thought. Then you turn up," she ended sharply, not bothering to try to hide the bitterness in her tone.

Fraser bit his lip and said nothing, knowing from experience that a single word from him, no matter how well intentioned, could make the woman walking at his side clam up completely and basically refuse to say another word.

"And then you show up," Meg repeated, more softly, "the one person who I cannot bear to think about half the time and the one person about whom I cannot stop thinking the other half. What was I meant to do? Run?" She gave a short laugh. "Running nearly got me killed; remembering kept me alive, and then there you were: older, sterner, if anything both more and less sure of who you are and what you're doing. And I'm leaving in the morning," Meg concluded suddenly. She could feel the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and held them back with effort. She waited anxiously for Fraser to say something, anything: to have him push her from him as an emotional mess or a liability was, she felt, better than not knowing. "What must you think of me?" she whispered.

"That's not important," came the soft reply, "what is important is what you think of yourself. But that is your business, not mine, so I do not ask you to answer. But know this, you are strong and appreciated, though perhaps you do not see your own strength and those who most value you for who you are as well as what you do may not always let you know." Fraser ran a hand distractedly through his already tousled hair. "When you went into the CSIS, four of us were told: myself, Maggie, Buck Frobisher and Ray Kowalski; we were not told anything more and knew better than to ask. For the past eight years, within a week of when we received that information, we've met up and made a toast - to you. We thought you were owed that much, at least. But only Maggie knew when you were coming back; although I had been told enough as to be sure you were alive, I did not know the dates," Fraser chuckled ruefully before he continued. "I was schooling Prima yesterday afternoon when Collins called across the arena that he wanted me to watch you shoot this morning. She sensed my distraction and I landed on the floor with a bump. When he repeated his request, I knew I couldn't be dreaming."

Meg gave up trying not to sniff; though the image of Fraser being bucked off for not paying attention made the corners of her mouth turn up. The unladylike noise caused Fraser to turn to her with concern showing readily in his blue eyes. "Are you OK?" he asked, gently laying a hand on her arm. Meg nodded, unable to trust her voice.

"Some say would say that I've been hiding, holed up in Resolute, and now Fort Good Hope," Fraser continued slowly, "depending on who said that, they would be right." They resumed their slow walk. "Over the past years, I've spent more nights out gazing up at the stars or the Aurora than I have under a roof. My father's old partner says it's not healthy; Maggie and Ray tell him it's keeping me sane. Work gets done," Fraser's voice dropped so it was barely above a whisper and Meg knew he was picking his words extremely carefully, "but home is not home. Welcome though I am with both Maggie and Ray and Buck, I cannot stay for more than a few days. I'm restless," he admitted softly.

It was Meg's turn to lay a comforting hand on Fraser's arm.

"Where to go from here?" Fraser whispered, as if he were talking to himself.

Meg's immediate thought was not the mess hall, but that was a flippant response to a clearly worrying question. "Maggie insists that I call you Ben or Benton," she offered instead.

"I suppose she has made worse suggestions," Fraser's lips twitched slightly, "unless we manage to end up in a direct chain of command..."

"Which is highly unlikely, since you will be in the far north, and I will be behind a desk somewhere; probably in a moderately large city," Meg interjected.

"Then I do not see any reason to not follow her suggestion," Fraser concluded. He halted suddenly and stood to attention. As if sensing the importance placed on what was about to be said, Pearson and Eliza sat smartly, one on each side. "Inspector Thatcher," he said formally, "do I have your permission to address you informally, by your given name?"

"Yes," Meg replied with a small smile, "providing I may call you by yours."

"Understood," Fraser nodded once, then offered Meg his hand. They shook hands; both feeling relieved for reasons that they could not quite place.

"Maggie has my phone number and current address, I would give you them, but I haven't got anything to write with," Meg said apologetically as they neared the entrance to the main building.

"My memory is not quite a sieve," Fraser remarked.

"In which case..." Meg reeled off her cell phone number and address. Fraser nodded once, then gave the address and phone number of his detachment at Fort Good Hope. They parted with another firm handshake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's obviously completely fictional that a remount would be sent to the Depot before being sent to a detachment; the logic of the idea should become a little clearer in due course. I ride English - hence the exact descriptions.


	6. A detour to a posting

Four weeks later, Meg went to check her post and was surprised to find a postcard in her mail box. The scene was of snow and a pine forest so she suspected it was from one of two people before she even turned it over to read:

'Congratulations to Insp. M. Thatcher, RCMP. Have returned to normal duties at Fort Good Hope. Cpl. M. M. sends her best wishes, as do P. and E. Stf. Sgt. (Rtd) B. Fro'r invites you to join us in Hay River Thursday two weeks - 17th July - for a couple of days. Make arrangements with M. M.

Sgt. B. F.

P.S.: If you don't come, E. may turn up on your doorstep on her own accord, and not because she was sent. B. F.'

The graceful cursive script was instantly recognisable as Frasers'. Even the peculiar reticence and shorthand - that Fro'r was Frobisher was easy to deduce once the sender was known - ware not incongruous with what she knew of Frasers' character. Meg sat on her sofa and stared alternately at the postcard in her hand and the boxes spread around the room.

Thursday two weeks - that was the 31st surely? She checked the postcard for a date: ah, it had been written on the 29th June. Today was Friday so she would have two days less to finish packing - not impossible. If she went to Hay River on Thursday, she could still be in Edmonton on Saturday as she had planned. There really wasn't anything against it; she picked up her phone and dialled Maggie's number.

Thus, just under a week later, Meg found herself alighting at Hay River's small airport. This time, she was looking for Maggie. Once again, though, she was found by a dog first.

"Hello Suki," she said without much surprise when the husky appeared at her feet. "Where's Maggie?" Suki walked off a few steps, then turned back to face her. "I guess this means I am to follow," Meg muttered and settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulder before tugging her small case along behind her.

They found Maggie waiting for them by the car, hands in her jeans pockets and her plaid jacket open to the fresh air showing the blue shirt underneath. Meg was glad she'd worn a pair of comfortable jeans and a jumper; the nice shirt and jacket she had considered would definitely have been too smart. Maggie grinned broadly when she saw Meg following Suki.

"Good to see you again, Meg," she said warmly, holding out her hand. They shook hands and Maggie opened the boot to put Meg's case in. Before Maggie even reached down to pick up the case, there was some mad barking. Meg was startled and stepped back hurriedly when another dog appeared, scrambling desperately over the parcel shelf. Once the new dog had reached the ground, it stood still for a moment, gave a whine and slowly walked over to where Meg was standing, frozen with shock. Maggie returned to putting the case in the boot, apparently unconcerned.

"Oh it's you, Eliza," Meg said in a relieved tone when she forced herself to look down and recognised the second dog.

"Sorry, Meg," Maggie said after she had closed the boot. "She started howling the moment I left, so Benton thought it better she came with me. I didn't dare have her out before you'd arrived - if she'd gone haring across the runway and been killed, Benton would never have forgiven me."

"It's quite all right, Maggie," Meg reassured the younger woman, "I was surprised, that's all."

"Understood. Shall we?" Maggie held open one of the rear doors for the dogs - Suki obediently hopped in, but Eliza refused, even when Meg indicated that she should follow.

"Oh, well," Meg said with a suppressed sigh, "you'd better sit at my feet in the front."

Maggie raised an eyebrow but shrugged: her brother would not be impressed, but he could raise that with Meg, not her.

They chatted quietly for much of the short journey to Buck's house; mostly commonplaces about the doings of the past month. Meg was surprised to discover that Maggie's current posting was at Amherstburg, a far cry from the northern wilderness she'd spent the first thirty years of her life in.

"How do you manage?" Meg asked.

"With difficultly," Maggie admitted, "but Ray's just over the border and I can always go and visit Benton or Buck when I have a few days off. I can't just ask Ray to stop being a detective, simply because I'd rather be ten or twenty degrees further north."

"That's quite a sacrifice though."

"Sometimes it feels that way, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

Eliza sat quietly with her head on Meg's knees and her eyes closed, Meg's hands gently playing with her ears. She'd never considered herself partial to animals, but Eliza's peculiar attachment was endearing, and she found that the having something to do with her hands was relaxing.

"Nearly there," Maggie observed after a pause in the conversation. They turned down a side street and Meg saw three figures and a dog come out of the front door of a house part way along the row. The dog bounded down the road towards them and Meg was a little concerned when Maggie didn't slow much - until he reached them and trotted back next to Maggie's door. It seemed that Pearson knew what he was doing when it came to meeting cars and was trusted to look after himself. Looking up, Meg easily identified Buck's silver haired figure, short and stocky next to Fraser's tall form; the slim figure to Buck's right, short blond hair sticking up in all directions, was clearly Ray Kowalski - the identity of Maggie's husband now confirmed.

Maggie parked the car and they all got out: Meg noticed Ray's raised eyebrows when Eliza got out of the front, but didn't dare look up at Fraser, fearing his disapproval. Meg let Maggie take her case while she went to shake hands with the three men.

"We meet again, Inspector," Buck said gravely, although Meg caught the pleased twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Indeed we do, sir," Meg replied with a smile. "And under less fraught circumstances than the record of our past meetings would suggest," she added.

"Well I'm retired now; the most excitement I can hope for is when the Frasers here decide to come and play pranks on an old man."

"Excuse me if that sounds like a peculiar pastime for two police officers, sir," Meg observed dryly.

"Nothing unusual about it, I assure you; Benton's been setting me conundrums since he could talk and Maggie's caught on pretty quick."

"Yes, sir," Meg said, nodding gravely despite the desire to giggle.

"That's enough of that," Buck said suddenly. "I'm retired, you're amongst friends. Buck will be more than sufficient. Or you could call me Duncan," he added, "but prepare to be laughed at or ignored if you do - the name's more appropriate for a mule than a man."

"OK, Buck," Meg agreed.

"Come on in," he said, waving them all inside. Fraser who took Meg's coat and hung it up with the others on the hooks on the wall while she and Maggie took off their shoes before following the dogs further into the house.

"How're you doing, ma'am?" Ray asked respectfully as they walked down the hallway, leaving Fraser with Maggie.

"Better than I have been, thank you, Detective."

"You heard Buck, you're amongst friends; call me Ray."

"In which case, you must call me Meg," she stipulated.

"No worries," Ray replied, grinning.

Buck handed them both coffee and poured himself a mug of tea. The three settled into three comfortable armchairs facing out towards the river that could just be seen at the bottom of the small garden. Meg was vaguely amused, although not especially surprised when they each ended up with a dog - somehow it seemed to fit: Buck with Pearson stretched out at his feet; Ray with the normally reserved Suki standing up on her hind legs and threatening to knock his mug out of his hand while Eliza had quietly put her head on Meg's knees. She tried to smother a giggle, but failed.

"What?" Ray demanded, still a brash american, despite his long acquaintance with Fraser and his marriage.

"Nothing," Meg replied, still giggling, "it's just that," she gasped for breath, "if you'd told me, three months ago, that I'd be here, drinking coffee, with a dog, sitting at my feet," she waved the mug vaguely, threatening to spill coffee everywhere. "I would have shot you," she concluded more soberly, "assuming I had a gun to hand, that is."

"Life is full of surprises," Buck stated. "Excuse me," he said as he stood noisily, "I must make sure that the Frasers are still alive - the hallway is strangely quiet." With that rather cryptic comment, Buck left, closing the door softly behind him.

Meg sat silently in her chair, wondering what it was usually like with Fraser and Maggie around. Did Maggie's communicativeness rub off on her brother, or did they simply have so much in common that difficult topics were easily avoided? She frowned: Buck had referred to them collectively as 'the Frasers' - had no one picked up on that?

"I wouldn't worry," Ray said cheerfully, misinterpreting her expression, "Benton and Maggie are more likely to have got side-tracked into a discussion about caribou habits, or to have spontaneously decided to clean Buck's kitchen - again, than to actually have fallen out."

"He calls them 'the Frasers'," Meg pointed out, "has no one figured out that Maggie's Benton's sister?"

"No," Ray said comfortably, "he started doing that when he retired about three years ago. Chances are that even if he'd done it before then, no one would have noticed, or they would have assumed he was referring to Benton's father. Many seemed to think he was getting soft in the head," he explained sadly, "he refused to conform; just like Benton."

"But he's not - soft in the head - is he?"

"Not him," Ray replied confidently. Meg nodded and they relapsed into comfortable silence.

When Buck had gone out to find Maggie and Benton, he did not expect to fined them in the middle of what was clearly a row, despite being conducted in soft tones and with an outward show of respect. Fraser had touched Maggie's shoulder when the others had gone through to the lounge and Maggie, expecting the discussion over his dog's manners, waited until the lounge door had closed behind Buck before looking up to meet her brother's eyes.

"Could you please explain why Eliza was in the front seat?" he hissed.

"Because she refused to get in the back," Maggie replied softly.

"Now that, I don't believe; Meg was there," Fraser said stubbornly, folding his arms and staring down at his sister.

"Believe me, brother," Maggie whispered, undaunted, "the only way Eliza was going to go in the back was if Meg sat in there too."

"So why didn't she?" came the grumpy objection.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Benton, Meg isn't exactly at her most confident around dogs," Maggie pointed out.

"She knows neither Suki nor Eliza is a threat," Fraser replied reasonably.

"You didn't see her face when Eliza jumped over the parcel shelf, she barely moved, but she was properly scared until her brain caught up with what she was seeing and she realised it was 'Liza," Maggie explained.

"'Liza did what?" Fraser exclaimed, his voice harsh in the quiet of the hallway.

"Well I wasn't going to risk her coming to harm racing across the landing strip to meet her, was I?" Maggie asked. "You know she would have been shot and that I wouldn't have been able to hold her, even if she were on a lead."

Fraser said nothing, silently agreeing with his sister. He leant to head to one side then looked straight at Maggie. "So you've decided that Eliza is allowed to get away with breaking any rule she likes in Meg's presence?"

"I can't say I approve, Benton, but she's your dog, not mine. If she won't obey you, then what can I do?" Maggie turned and had taken two steps towards the lounge before Fraser found his voice:

"Now just wait," he hissed, grabbing Maggie roughly by the elbow, "it doesn't matter who told Eliza to get in the car; the point is that she was in the front, with Meg."

"In which case, you'd better take Meg to task for not sitting in the back," Maggie shot back.

"W-w-what?" Fraser stammered, just as Buck appeared at the lounge door.

"You heard me," Maggie said, unfazed. "I'm going to see if there's any tea left," she added cheerfully, noting Buck's concerned expression.

Buck followed Maggie into the small kitchen. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Maggie said bravely, not looking round from the counter. "No," she sniffed a moment later. Buck said nothing, just leant against the counter next to her. "Benton's been so touchy lately - ever since he was last at the Depot. It's like he's shutting me out."

"He's shutting us all out," Buck observed quietly, "I'm half-surprised he didn't bail on us today."

"I think Ray threatened to shoot Pearson if he did," Meg said with a trace of a watery giggle.

"Ah," Buck nodded approvingly; the detective had chosen a good threat.

"But what has he to hide?" Maggie asked after a pause in which the lounge door opened and closed, followed by the reassuring rumble of Ray and Fraser's voices.

"From us, nothing, from himself, I don't know. I think your brother's running scared." Buck thought he was right, but he needed to better understand the implications and possible reasons to be confident in his assessment. "Did I ever tell you everything about the incident with the train?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, Buck," Maggie said with a sigh; it was a good story and Buck told it well.

"Which means I didn't tell you everything," he contradicted. "I don't know exactly what was said, nor do I know who spoke first, but they kissed atop that runaway train."

"Their strategy session," Maggie realised.

"Yes. I thought it grand. She was his equal."

"Is," Maggie interjected.

"Oh, yes, sorry; so many years uncertainty," Buck shook his head sadly. "I don't think I'll easily forget the look on either of their faces when Randall Bolt uncoupled the caboose: Benton looked ready to cross hell to save her; the Inspector was pleading for him not do to anything stupid, at the same time seeming to place complete faith in him." Buck sighed before continuing fondly: "Oh, she was brave: beautiful, clever and brave. Pressing the intercom button so we could hear that the terrorists' - well Randall's - plan was; keeping her nerve when the other two criminals were shot..." Buck fell silent and Maggie thought she understood her brother's reticence a bit better.

"So what was said when you all caught up with Bolt?" Maggie asked.

"I don't know," Buck admitted, "I just don't know. I can only guess that Thatcher pulled rank and Benton, as he always does, buried his heart in his red serge."

"And now it's all coming apart?" Maggie surmised.

"Maybe, I don't know," Buck said tiredly. "I think they said goodbye that night in the wilderness before Muldoon was captured. She returned to Chicago for a few days before heading to Ottawa; Benton and Ray wrote their statements and headed off to the Beaufort Sea. I don't think they expected to ever meet again."

"I hope..." Maggie trailed off, shrugged, and then looked up at the clock, "it's nearly time, Buck, shall we?" Buck nodded and led the way back to the lounge.

"Dinner's nearly ready," Buck announced to the now silent room. Meg seemed to be absorbed with playing with Eliza's ears; Ray was twiddling his thumbs and tapping his toe impatiently now that Suki had stopped pestering him, while Fraser was pretending to read. Only Suki moved in response to their entrance, standing slowly before trotting across to Maggie.

"I know, Suki," Maggie whispered as she knelt to stroke the husky's head fondly.

"I'll go clean up, Benton?" Ray said, breaking the silence. "Frase'?" he said, more insistently, nudging his friend's foot when Fraser didn't move.

"Oh yes," Fraser said, springing to life, "wash hands and then we'll bring the stew through."

"Why, thank you kindly, Benton," Buck said.


	7. Stew

A few minutes later, they were all sitting round a large oblong table while Buck served stew from a cast iron pot at one end. Fraser and Maggie sat on either side of Buck, with Ray next to Fraser and Meg next to Maggie. The dogs had, much to their disgust, been banished to the enclosed lawn directly behind the house. The hearty stew absorbed attention for a while and Ray, Buck and Maggie found enough to talk about to prevent the silence of Fraser and Meg from becoming oppressive.

"Why Fort Good Hope?" Meg asked after a lull in the conversation, only to be met with blank stares from around the table. "Why is Fraser - Benton - posted at Fort Good Hope?" she clarified.

"Because it's more convenient for the Depot than Resolute," Fraser replied stiffly.

"I'm not sure that Fort Good Hope can really be considered all that convenient for the teaching at the Depot," Meg remarked, looking at her plate. She took a sip of water and therefore missed the worried looks exchanged between Buck, Ray and Maggie.

Fraser ran a hand through his hair before replying: "It's all relative."

"You make it sound as if you had no choice - as if Ottawa had banished you to Resolute," Meg said sympathetically, only to be met with stony silence from everyone. "What did Fraser do?" Meg wondered, her hands going to her mouth, horrified, when she realised that she had voiced the thought aloud.

"Justified your initial opinion of him as a troublesome and inconvenient member of the RCMP," Fraser said harshly, blue eyes hard. "Excuse me," he said coldly as he stood, chair legs scraping on the wooden floor. A moment later the heard the front door bang and Fraser shout for Pearson who clearly could, and did, jump the yard gate.

No one spoke or moved, their appetites quite gone.

"Could someone please explain?" Meg asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"It's Benton's story," Maggie said softly when Ray seemed about to speak.

"But it concerns Meg too," Ray countered.

"Ray's right, Maggie," Buck said firmly, "he was there, standing at Benton's side when it happened."

Maggie shrugged and left the room, returning a minute later with Suki and Eliza. "I don't want to hear it," she said, eyes flashing, when Buck seemed about to object to the dogs being at the dinner table.

"Keep your hat on, Maggie," Buck replied gently, "I know you hate hearing this story, and Meg's going to need all the comfort Eliza can give her by the time we're through."

Maggie sat in Fraser's empty seat, one hand on Suki's head and the other reaching for her husband, who held it firmly. The three glanced at each other as Meg looked sadly across at them, Eliza's head once again in her lap.

"Well, I guess I'd better start," Buck said after a while, "though I won't be the one to finish. Benton came back from the Beaufort Sea and was promoted to corporal; no surprises, he was well overdue." Meg nodded in agreement. "He had his choice of postings and chose Eskimo Bay." 

"Arviat," Maggie interjected, giving the settlement its proper name.

Buck ignored the interruption and continued: "All was good for nearly two years. Then Benton gets a call - they want him to be part of the security detail at this fancy trade meeting that's being set up in Ottawa - I can't remember what they call it: America, us, Mexico..."

"NAFTA summit?" Meg suggested when the other two shook their heads.

"Yeah, that," Ray confirmed.

"So Benton agrees, on the condition that Ray, here, is on the security detail too," Buck said with a smile.

"Hey," Ray said, "he's my partner - no matter what, I couldn't say no now, could I?" Maggie laughed softly and kissed her husband's cheek fondly.

Meg frowned slightly, not entirely sure where this was going: any situation she could imagine Fraser getting into at a NAFTA summit would lead to a commendation, not banishment.

"To cut to the chase," Ray said after a glance at Buck and Maggie, "Fraser and I went, worked security, nothing happened, no mysteries, no threats, nada. Even the FBI guys were tolerable." Meg raised an eyebrow at that: her experience of the bureau had been of a bunch of self-important male chauvinists, unwilling to listen to, let alone heed, outsiders. "Just," Ray added on seeing Meg's expression.

"So what happened?" Meg prompted.

"A chauvinist on the Canadian side, I am ashamed to say," Buck stated when no one else spoke. "If I were thirty years younger, I would be inclined to give him a piece of my mind too," his voice had dropped to a threatening growl and Meg was becoming even more confused - why was everyone being either defensive, cagey, or both? She stroked Eliza's head, thinking.

"Well Fraser beat ya to it," Ray said. "It was the last evening; a lot of big-wigs had been invited to a final what-do-ya-call-'em?"

"Soirée," Maggie said helpfully.

"Yeah, one of those," Ray cleared his throat slightly and twirled his fork in his free hand. "So anyway, there's this one guy who Fraser says he knows, internal affairs or something..."

"Legal affairs," Maggie corrected.

"Yeah, that," Ray said again. "So me and Frase', we're just minding our own business, keeping our eyes and ears open when he suddenly stops dead - I don't know why. He drags me over to this grey haired chap who's holding court with one of the FBI agents and a couple of other old pen-pushers," Ray paused and glanced across at Buck who nodded. "Turns out, these four or five men are having a nice little chat about how women should not be in law enforcement; how they're nothing more than a distraction and a liability." He stopped at Meg's sharp intake of breath.

"Go on, son," Buck said, "she has to know."

"Anyway, there was much of the same; I could feel Fraser getting agitated - I can't say I was too happy about it myself - then your name. This guy from legal affairs says something - about you being a flirt and leading a man on or something," Ray looked uncomfortably down at the remains of his meal; he could remember the exact words and they were far worse than those he had reported, as Maggie and Buck both well knew. "So Fraser taps this guy on the shoulder and politely asks him not to speak of female members of the RCMP in that manner. The guy recognises him and doesn't back down: 'she's been leading you on and you don't think that's an unacceptable distraction?' he said; it sounded like a taunt. You know Fraser, he simply says, 'no, sir, you're wrong, on both counts.' I try not to remember what was said next, I am afraid it really was not very complimentary to you, Inspector." Ray took a sip of water and Meg could see him steel himself to finish the tale. "Fraser took as much as he could; which is a good deal more than anyone else would have taken. Politely asked the guy to retract what he had said and apologise. On being met with a refusal, he punched the guy twice - broken nose and out for the count, it was almost clinical - then walked off. He didn't go far - just to the chief superintendent in the next room where he put himself under arrest for assault."

Eliza whined, and Meg realised that she was gripping the dog's fur far too tightly. She gradually relaxed her hold and stroked the fur back into place. She knew her eyes had gone wide and her mouth was open in disbelief. Thoughts were chasing themselves frantically around her head: typical Fraser; an awareness that it wouldn't have mattered who had been discussed; sorrow; amazement. She struggled to keep the tears from forming.

"Who was it?" she asked eventually, not even attempting to hide her emotions.

"Henry Clowteeur," Ray said, with awful pronunciation.

"Henri Cloutier," Meg corrected, "oh, no," she groaned and Eliza whined, sensing her dismay.

"It wasn't quite as bad as it might have been," Maggie said reassuringly, "Cloutier tried his hardest to get Benton thrown out, but after two deputy commissioners got involved, he had to back down."

"Two?" Meg asked. There were only seven in the entire RCMP, for two to be involved in a case involving a lowly corporal, for that had been Fraser's rank at the time, was bordering on the absurd.

"I was owed a couple of favours, and he is Bob Fraser's son," Buck said. "He was suspended for three months while the whole thing was investigated. Benton looked about as broken up as his father had when Caroline was killed." Meg couldn't quite place the name, then remembered it had been Fraser's mother.

"But it wasn't all bad," Ray continued, "the FBI guy couldn't deny the basic purport of the conversation and that your name came up. Lead to some serious questioning of the ethos of the legal affairs office," Buck chuckled slightly at that although Meg failed to see what was funny. "In the end they found that while Fraser might have reacted inappropriately, it was a small, isolated incident compared with the underlying problems in legal affairs."

"Oh, God," Meg breathed - she had considered filing a complaint when she had been in Ottawa, but concern for her career had held her back. In return, Fraser had taken the brunt of the fall-out. Her grip on Eliza's ruff tightened again and she had to force herself to let go.

"God has nothing to do with it," Buck observed.

"So Benton was given a choice," Maggie said, taking up the story: "leave the RCMP or accept a posting at Resolute with no permission to request a transfer or otherwise leave his patrol area."

"Yeah, getting your cabin fixed and getting him to our wedding were both major exercises in form-filling and negotiation," Ray added.

"Buck gave me away; Benton was best man," Maggie explained. "Anyway, he went to Resolute. Then Buck retired three years ago."

"The idiots asked me to recommend someone to teach the tracking and survival courses at the Depot, then turned out two classes of complete incompetents before they decided that maybe an old man with a limp and passing wind might just be worth listening to," Buck grumbled.

"So Fraser got promoted and transferred to Fort Good Hope," Meg concluded, the strange fact of Fraser trialling a new horse at the Depot rather than going over to the remount station making more sense: it appeared that moving the horse had required fewer forms than moving Fraser.

"Yes," Maggie confirmed, "we were all a bit surprised he didn't lose his rank when he was sent to Resolute."

"Too many commendations," Buck and Meg said simultaneously.

"How did you..." Maggie started to ask.

"Know?" Meg finished. "I was his commanding officer for over three years. During which time he received five," she explained, not adding that she'd earned two of her own too. "I must find him," she said suddenly.

"Wait," Maggie said, holding up a hand. "You need to know just a little bit more." She glanced at Buck who nodded again: "When he was at Resolute, it was worse than after his father's death. Buck and I seemed to be the only two officers willing to speak to him, even though the whole affair was hushed up fairly well. Those years were hard on him: he wouldn't see or speak to a soul for weeks at a time; he had his dog team and that was it. Even we wondered whether he was losing his mind, especially after Diefenbaker's death. Don't worry, he's as sane as any of us here," Maggie said quickly in response to Meg's worried glance. "He was there for just over three years - did wonderful work: broke several large game poaching rings; unveiled a massive illegal mining operation; rescued several children who got caught out on breaking ice; prevented suicides; helped ensure everyone had enough to see them through the winters; played the tour guide; tracked fugitives; prevented large scale pollution and dumping. You know," she shrugged, "the usual."

Meg didn't know but wasn't about to admit it. On second thoughts, though, it did all sound very Fraser-like.

"Then he gets the call from headquarters to report to the Depot," Maggie continued, "he refused; they turn it from a request to an order."

"He didn't go?" Meg asked, flabbergasted.

"No, I had to fly all the way out to one of the most inaccessible postings," Buck said, "when I got there, I found out that he'd had the cheek to head off on some imaginary round, that he'd apparently claimed he'd neglected, the day HQ phoned. No one knew when he was coming back. I waited nearly a month."

"It seems your patience was rewarded as he's teaching at the Depot," Meg observed.

"Yes, but it took four days to talk him into even going. You must understand," Buck said earnestly, meeting Meg's eyes, "for three years he had been ignored; left to take his punishment in peace. He never spoke about it; just accepted it," Buck's voice became hard and Meg was suddenly aware of exactly how much restraint it must have taken Buck to not barge in and make the mess even worse. "Then one day, without warning they expect him to come back, almost as if he'd never been anything other than an exemplary officer."

"He's not been happy though," Ray remarked. "That temper of his, I don't think I ever saw it before he was banished; now talking to him can be like navigating a minefield. Mostly he just shuts down, but now and again something will make him snap."

"As I did today," Meg said sadly. "I must find him," she said again and stood when no one objected.

"Eliza will track him," Maggie told her, "and Meg?" she added, causing Meg to turn in the doorway, "be kind to him."

Meg nodded and grabbed her jacket from the hooks as she stuffed her feet into her shoes before tying them quickly. Once she had stepped outside and closed the door, she knelt next to Eliza. Feeling a sudden rush of tears, that would not be repressed, she buried her face in the dog's fur and allowed herself one sniff for Fraser's plight.

"Come on, Eliza," she said once she had collected herself, "we need to find Fraser - Benton." She stood and Eliza gave a single bark before trotting off. Meg took a deep breath before following at a jog: she was not going to run flat out, Fraser was much fitter than her and had had nearly half an hour's head start; she would find him rather than catch him.

In the house behind her, the remaining three members of the little party sat in unhappy silence, broken only when Ray muttered something about dishes.

"Good idea, Detective," Buck said. "Give her about forty minutes or so, then you two go and join the fun. I'll expect you all back for tea at half past four."

Maggie glanced at her watch: "Better make that five. If Benton's gone where I think he has, it'll take an hour to get back; it's two now so we won't get there much before half three."

"Explanations always take forever when Fraser's involved," Ray added as he collected plates and cutlery.

"Very well," Buck agreed. "I hope they manage to work things out."

"So do we, sir," Maggie replied softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Fraser punching Henri Cloutier (admittedly with provocation) was (perhaps unfortunately) rather persistent.


	8. Mostly explanatory

Damn, damn, and damn again, Fraser thought as he strode moodily along the sand bar on the shore of Great Slave Lake, ignoring the breeze that made a jacket generally advisable and unheeding of Pearson padding sedately behind him. He kicked at a small pile of sand and felt a viscous pleasure when it toppled over. He needed to think; but the ability to think clearly seemed to have vanished many years ago. All he could remember were an old sneer and recent horror in a pair of brown eyes.

Maggie, Ray and Buck would have told her, he was sure, and she would be on the next plane south. He checked his watch - yes, two more hours and Inspector Meg Thatcher would be off and away: this time she would not look back, she would forget. He suspected she would have been trained to do just that - how else could anyone survive eight years as an undercover intelligence agent?

Pearson whined, but Fraser did not look back.

"Fraser!" Meg called with all the breath she had left after her half-hour run through Hay River and then out along an unmarked road. "Fraser!" No response, although Pearson had barked the first time and jumped up at Fraser the second, only to be roughly pushed away. She walked forwards a few metres as she caught her breath. "Ben," she shouted, and was relieved when he stopped about fifty metres in front of her. She tried to run, but the sand slid away from beneath her feet so she settled for a quick walk. "Ben," she repeated, afraid that he would start running again if she didn't keep talking. "Maggie and Ray told me what happened in Ottawa," she said simply when she was near enough for him to hear her without her having to shout.

Fraser spun to face her, his face set in hard lines. "They had no business to," he snapped.

"They're your friends," Meg replied evenly. "Beating yourself up over something you did many years ago isn't helping anyone." She stood still a couple of metres from Fraser, watching, waiting.

"I should never have interfered," he said coldly.

"No," Meg interposed firmly, before Fraser had done more than shifted his weight to turn and continue walking - or start running - again. "Henri Cloutier got what was coming to him: you had the courage to stand up and make enough of a fuss that they could not ignore the situation. I'm sorry," she continued more softly, her words drifting on the breeze that whipped her hair around her face. "I'm sorry that it ever came to that: if I'd been stronger, less absorbed in my career, you would never have become involved."

"Doesn't matter," Fraser muttered.

Meg sighed, this was Sergeant Benton Fraser, the man who had brought his father's killer to justice, twice, of course he was not going to make this easy - for either of them. "Look, Fraser," she said, risking a small step forwards. "I know you did what was right - not just for yourself, but for others; for the entire of the RCMP. That you were banished for the second time in ten years was not your fault, and you must forgive yourself before you completely alienate all who love you."

"Inspector, no," Fraser said, and Meg noticed that his hands were clenched into tight fists.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked gently.

"Nothing," Fraser said, but Meg knew from the way that he was not looking at her properly that he was lying.

"Yourself? What you fear you're capable of?" Meg spat. "That people might actually care for you?"

"Just. Leave. It." Fraser said harshly.

"No."

"Why not?" Fraser snarled, his top lip drawn back over his teeth.

"Because I know you have a heart." Meg bit her lip, suddenly aware that she was using his own words. "And I think it beats just the same as mine," she continued, vaguely hoping that he would be reminded of an earlier time.

"You do?" Fraser asked, incredulous. "What about right now?" He seemed to be playing along, but Meg couldn't decide whether he wasn't just taunting her.

"It's worried," she said.

"Nervous."

"Terrified," she clarified.

Fraser said nothing and they stood in silence, listening to the wind and the lap of water on the lake shore. Meg kept her eyes on Fraser, wondering what was going through his mind.

"How can you bear to look at me?" he asked eventually.

"Because you're the most honest, idealistic, stubborn and trustworthy person I've ever met," Meg stated simply.

"But what I did?" In Fraser's mind his actions were reprehensible and had been entirely uncalled for.

"Needed to be done," Meg said firmly, "I didn't have the guts to stand up to him..." she trailed off sadly, feeling responsible, feeling silly and weak.

"You did," Fraser countered. The first time he'd had the dubious pleasure of making Henri Cloutier's acquaintance, the Inspector certainly had stood up to him and had told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone.

"Not when it would have done any good. You broke the silence." Meg impatiently brushed her hair away from her face. "I'm only sorry that they decided to try and break you as a result."

Fraser laughed mirthlessly. Meg's assessment sounded preposterous: as far as he was concerned, he'd crossed a line he should never have come near and received his just desserts; there was no malice in it.

"I know what it's like," Meg said softly, looking up into Fraser's face, "when someone tries to break you. That's what forced me to come back. I was lucky: I could remember you." Fraser's eyes finally met hers, although they still had a rather distant look. "They couldn't get at that. What did you have?"

Fraser walked off instead of answering; Meg let him take two steps before she hurried after him. She laid a hand on Fraser's shoulder and was shocked that when he spun round to face her his left hand had risen in a fist and his right had reached to his left hip - as if for his gun or knife - as if she were a threat. His face fell when he registered that it was only she who had followed him and he looked immensely ashamed.

"I... I'm sorry, ma'am," he stuttered.

"I've dealt with worse," Meg replied, reaching out more gently to lay a comforting hand on his forearm.

"I'm sorry to hear it; and my sincere apologies for my actions, ma'am, they were completely uncalled for."

"Fraser, Ben," Meg said softly, "something may be eating at your conscience, but saying nothing to Maggie, Ray and Buck is not helping anyone."

"Well they do say that a problem shared is a problem halved," Fraser allowed after some thought.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Meg reminded him, then changing the subject somewhat: "I was sorry to see you without Diefenbaker, I know he meant a lot to you."

Fraser bit his lip before replying hollowly: "He was an old wolf; it was time." Meg said nothing, just nodded. As she watched, she saw an expression of anguish cross Fraser's normally calm face. "Diefenbaker died up at Resolute," he said slowly, and Meg saw his eyes fill with tears. "He never asked anything of me until the end - he wanted to go home - to my father's cabin. I put in the leave request and he held on, so bravely, for just over five weeks." He drew a shuddering breath before continuing. "Permission to take ten days' leave came through three days later. I could only bury him there."

Meg's heart ached for the man standing in front of her, a few silent tears making unnoticed tracks across his cheeks. His eyes hollow and dead. It was ridiculously petty, she thought angrily; there was no reason for leave requests to take more than two weeks to be approved.

"Thank you," she said simply and gave into the urge to raise her hand to his face and wipe the tears away with her thumb.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

Fraser sniffed and looked down, and Meg, though uncertain, kept her hand on his face.

"I'm... sorry," Fraser said eventually, his voice breaking as the tears came in a great rush. Before he could turn and run, Meg had stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. She was thankful when he didn't fight her but buried his face against her shoulder. She said nothing, just held tight and rubbed a hand slowly up and down his back.

Time passed, Meg didn't know or care how long. At one point she became aware of Eliza and Pearson dashing madly up the beach towards where she'd come off the road. Some excited barking followed, and shortly afterwards she glimpsed three dogs - Suki presumably the third - racing excitedly down the beach, tails held high. Maggie and Ray had clearly come and found them.

"Oh God," Ray heard Maggie say softly when they reached the beach. He could just make out figures standing about fifty yards away and fished in his pocket for his glasses. "Yikes," he said once he could see clearly. "So it took the Ice Queen to break Benton," he observed with a worried look to his wife.

"I'm not so sure," Maggie said thoughtfully, entirely omitting to reprimand Ray for calling Meg by his old, and not especially complimentary, nickname for her. "If what Buck told me is true, Meg will do what we couldn't."

"Help him heal, you mean?"

"Yes," Maggie agreed. "It won't be easy though. Fraser needs his freedom to go where he will - that's what's been slowly killing him these last few years."

"Don't I know it," Ray said, his resentment at the treatment of his best friend, and Fraser's unwillingness to complain, bubbling to the surface.

Maggie checked her watch - it was getting near to four p.m. and they would need to head back to Buck's soon.

When Fraser had cried himself out, he raised his head and looked at Meg with acute embarrassment.

"I..." he started.

"Needed that," Meg interrupted, raising her hand to keep Fraser's now reddened eyes on her. Fraser nodded, slowly, and she decided to dare risk upsetting or alienating him again. "Your father should be example enough of what happens when you hold onto grief and hurt too hard," she said as gently as she could, unsurprised when Fraser stiffened at her allusion to his mother's murder and his father's subsequent year and a half long chase of Holloway Muldoon.

"I know," Fraser said sadly, "but it's..."

"Complicated?" Meg offered.

"Yes, that," Fraser agreed. "It was bad enough facing Buck and Maggie after..." he gestured vaguely, unable to find the words to describe the entire mess surrounding his suspension. "I was lucky they made my posting to Resolute look like something I might request."

Meg thought of what Maggie had said at their first meeting: Fraser may not have been allowed to go far without permission, but only a handful of people had been aware of the restriction. To many in the force he was a living legend. Considering what she'd learnt about his time in Resolute and his reluctance to move, she began to appreciate exactly how much Fraser had been hurt by his second banishment. In Chicago he'd been lost, but he'd had the Rays for friends and the cops of the 27th precinct had appreciated him, even if no one else appeared to; he'd been right when he'd admitted that his postings in Resolute and Fort Good Hope had been akin to hiding, even if he hadn't had a choice of location.

"Maggie and Ray are here," Fraser pointed out after glancing up.

"I know," Meg said, "Suki raced past with Pearson and Eliza a few minutes ago."

"Oh dear," Fraser murmured; just what he needed, more people to see him at his weakest.

"They love you," Meg pointed out, taking hold of one of Fraser's hands in hers.

"I know," he replied, still sounding unconvinced. He stepped back, straightening up and putting space between them. Meg let him step back, but refused to let go of his hand as they walked slowly forwards to meet the others. After a moment, Fraser seemed to resign himself to the fact that Meg was not going to let go and curled his fingers around hers.

"So?" Ray asked, once they were within earshot.

"So what, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"All better?"

"Not really, no," Fraser admitted, tilting his head to one side and straightening up again with an audible clicking of joints. "But getting there," he added with a small smile.

Maggie nodded: despite his red eyes, she thought her brother looked better than he had for a long time; the haunted look that had dogged him for years had receded a bit.

"Come on," she said after a moment's quiet, "Buck's expecting us back at five and it's gone four."

"Better get going," Fraser said, "we're going to have to run a bit though."

"Great," Ray said, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from his wife, who laughed, whistled and set off at a steady jog. Despite his grumbling, Ray followed.

"Pearson, 'Liza," Fraser called before turning to Meg. "Shall we?"

Meg smiled and they set off after the others. Only the first part of the return journey was run; they walked the last twenty minutes and were quite relaxed by the time they reached Buck's house. In trying to find something to talk about, she'd dared to ask about Fraser's time in Resolute - specifically how a police officer became a tour guide. Somewhat to her surprise, she found that he hadn't really minded being posted there - his father had been assigned there before he was born, so Fraser had been able to explore some of the land his father had written about. The resentment came from the fact that he had been unable to visit his friends or return to his cabin when he wanted - or needed - to and Meg vowed silently to see if she could change that. She'd been surprised when, having dropped her hand when they first set off, Fraser had reached for it again once they'd stopped running. She didn't complain, after the loneliness of her time with the CSIS, such a simple gesture was more comforting than she could say, and if it comforted Fraser too, who was she to complain?

Buck was standing on the porch to greet them when they returned five minutes before five. The dogs reached him first and were greeted fondly.

"Well?" he asked, smiling, when the four approached, noting Meg and Fraser's joined hands.

"Getting there, sir," Fraser reported.

"It's going to take time - and patience," Meg said grimly.

"You'll get there. Now, tea," and with that, Buck took charge: ushering them in; reminding them to take off boots; hanging up coats and settling them down in the lounge with steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fraser usually keeps his temper very firmly in check, although it does exist - 'Bird in the Hand' - a take on what might just push Fraser to the limits of his control. I'm not entirely certain where Fraser's tears came from, but I wanted to avoid too much of a row.


	9. Starting to sort things out

After a subdued, but not especially awkward supper, they returned to the lounge with for a last mug of tea. Maggie and Ray settled on the sofa with Suki spread across their feet and soon fell into earnest discussion with Fraser about one of Ray's cases. Maggie seemed to be attempting to persuade Ray to ask Fraser to go down to Detroit to examine the crime scenes, but Ray objected, saying that by the time Fraser's paperwork had been approved there would be nothing left. Fraser agreed with Ray and put an end to the idea, although Maggie had clearly been to the scene and the three became absorbed in discussion the import of her observations. Meg noted how Fraser's interest was piqued and realised that he relished the challenges of detective work as much as he enjoyed, and was dedicated to, his field work.

"Why are they being so mean to him?" she whispered to Buck who was sitting in the armchair next to her.

"Benton?" Buck whispered back. "I don't know. Just about everyone knows he's a fine officer."

"One of the best," Meg interjected.

"So I can only guess that someone has it in for him: he's caused the force serious embarrassment twice - first over his father's death; then by exposing Cloutier - but that really shouldn't still be dogging him."

"It's not fair," Meg complained.

"No, it's not," Buck agreed readily, "but life rarely is. Benton knows that, and tries to accept it."

"I wonder whether I might be able to do something..." she mused.

"Don't get involved unless you're absolutely certain that you'll succeed," Buck warned, "Benton will hate himself forever if you get into trouble trying to help."

"But why?" Meg asked - she knew Fraser cared for her, but had always felt that he respected her enough to trust her judgement.

"Because he's a stubborn as a mule," Buck said simply, leaving Meg no less confused than before.

Nine o'clock came and Maggie and Ray left, taking the three dogs with them despite Eliza's protests. The night was fine and they planned to sleep out - it seemed the normal thing for them to do. While Meg could well understand that Maggie, born and bred in the wilderness, would not pass up an opportunity to rough it, especially now she was living in the south, Ray's enthusiasm was slightly more of a surprise. But Fraser remarked that his friend had really taken to wilderness life when they had been off adventuring so his current attitude was not exceptional. Buck yawned soon after and went upstairs to bed, leaving Meg alone with Fraser.

At first, Meg was happy to sit quietly: she wanted time to consider the afternoon's revelations and her and Fraser's reactions. Every now and again, she'd glance up and meet Fraser's eyes to find that, like her, he was absorbed in his own thoughts. She hoped that the slight smile hovering around his lips meant that they were largely pleasant. Eventually, she broke the silence:

"Fraser, Ben, if a way to end the restriction on your movements could be found, what would you say?" she asked, choosing her words carefully.

"Beware of getting tarred with the same brush as me," came the soft reply.

Meg smiled slightly, relieved. She'd not done too badly at navigating the political minefield of the RCMP, "I made inspector at thirty-four," she pointed out, "I think I can manage."

"Just be careful, please," Fraser said, lifting his head so blue eyes met brown.

"I will," Meg promised. She stretched, then stood and wandered over to where Fraser sat in another armchair. Perching herself on the broad arm, she considered carefully what she was about to ask of him. "I'm going to need to know everything you know or suspect of who's preventing any changes to the terms of your posting," she said softly, taking one of Fraser's hands in hers when he stiffened. "You need to trust me," she said, gently prising his fist open and lacing her fingers through his.

"I know," Fraser said, his voice low, "but it's hard to admit that they system is flawed," and Meg understood better that it wasn't just his guilt that was bothering Fraser, it was also his awareness that the set of ideals on which he had built his entire adult life were not as sound as he wished.

"I know," she whispered, and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"Thank you," Fraser whispered back and rested his head comfortably against Meg's side. She smiled softly and said nothing.

"I assume you still hate perfume," Fraser murmured an indeterminate amount of time later.

"Yes," Meg said with a smile, happy that Fraser remembered. "Although there was this one time..." Fraser raised an eyebrow before realising that Meg couldn't see him.

"Go on," he prompted, intrigued and interested to hear more about what she'd been doing. He knew there would be little that she could tell him, but, from what he knew of Inspector Meg Thatcher, everything she said would mean something.

"My first mission, I had to wear perfume, it was horrible," Meg grumbled. "I chose something called 'Passionflower'."

"Oh dear," Fraser muttered, recalling that that had been the perfume he'd worn during some undercover investigation at a girl's school and she'd caught him one day when he hadn't washed his wrists properly on returning to the consulate.

"It reminded me of you," she said, "somehow I felt reassured."

Fraser squeezed Meg's hand in silent acknowledgement, but was glad she couldn't see his blush. They were silent for a long time after that, so long, in fact, that Meg thought Fraser might just have dozed off. She yawned.

"Ben?" she asked.

"Huh?" Fraser groaned, clearly rather less than half-awake.

"You were almost asleep," Meg pointed out with some amusement.

"Sorry, ma'am," Fraser apologised, "Meg," he corrected.

"It's been a long day," Meg said tiredly.

"Yes," Fraser agreed. "I'll show you to the spare room." Meg let go of Fraser's hand and stood, easing the stiffness out of her back. Fraser quickly straightened the room before leading the way upstairs, showing Meg the guest room and the bathroom. Having done so, he stood uncertainly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I should go," he said.

"No," Meg replied, unsurprised when Fraser looked up, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "The bed's more than big enough for two," she said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "I know you'll be OK out in the forest, but we might both sleep better for not being alone," she justified.

Fraser ran a thumbnail backwards across an eyebrow. "There is an old European custom," he said mildly, "whereby an engaged couple are each wrapped in a blanket and then left together overnight. The idea, I believe, is that they get to know each other properly before they marry. Now I'm not saying that we're engaged..." he trailed off, his face scarlet, and Meg decided that it was probably as close to an agreement as she was going to get.

"It looks like you'd better find yourself a blanket," she said with a smile.

"Understood."

By the time Meg had cleaned her teeth and changed into her pyjamas, Fraser was back with his bedroll and toothbrush. She snuggled down under the duvet while he brushed his teeth and stripped down to his vest and boxers. She closed her eyes when he returned from the bathroom, aware that Fraser in his underwear had an unfortunate tendency to deprive her of all means of forming a coherent sentence. Only once she was fairly certain that he was lying down, wrapped in his bedroll, did she open her eyes. Looking up, she saw that Fraser was gazing at her intently, his clear blue eyes calm and soft. She smiled again, reached out a hand with the intention of brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead, and was more pleased than disappointed when her purpose was foiled by him taking it in one of his own.

"Thank you," Fraser said simply, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Meg ducked her head in acknowledgement, yawned, considered conversation and decided that, since they had the entire of the next day to discuss things in more detail, sleep was more important. She drifted off easily. Fraser watched her still form for some time; slowly coming to terms with the fact that she apparently still cared for and respected him, before he placed a second kiss on her knuckles and composed himself to sleep too.

When she woke the next morning to the smell of bacon wafting through the house, Meg was surprised that Fraser was still asleep next to her, his hand still holding hers. He looked as if he'd barely moved and she noted that she'd got as far as rolling onto her back, away from him. She thought it might be awkward, but when Fraser's eyes flickered open a few minutes later, his relaxed smile and soft eyes reassured her that, strange though the situation might be, it had provided more comfort than confusion. She yawned hugely and Fraser chuckled.

"Time to get up," he whispered, letting go of her hand and suiting his actions to the words. Meg groaned but got up quickly once Fraser had headed to the bathroom.

"Y'all sleep OK?" Ray asked cheerfully when Meg and Fraser appeared in the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you, Ray," Fraser said evenly as Meg investigated the coffee situation.

"Glad to hear it," Buck chimed in, "help yourself to breakfast," he added before walking out of the kitchen. Meg and Ray soon followed, leaving Fraser with Maggie.

"You look better," Maggie observed after a moment.

"I feel it," Fraser admitted.

"Buck said you two were up late."

"Yes," Fraser sighed, he wasn't looking forward to his sister's cross-questioning.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Did you sleep with her?" Maggie asked, grinning cheekily when Fraser blushed deeply.

"She asked me to stay - which I did - but we didn't do anything other than actually sleep," Fraser replied, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Good," Maggie said. "You two need to get it right," she explained in reply to Fraser's questioning look and raised eyebrows. "And that means not making too many decisions too quickly. You've both been hurt; you've both hurt each other. It's not going to sort itself out overnight."

"Understood," Fraser said and Maggie picked up her plate and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

A lot had changed in the previous twenty-four hours, he reflected. Maggie, Buck and Ray had welcomed Meg as part of the family and he had been forced to face one of his worst fears, only to find it groundless. Once again, he found himself admiring the tenacity and strength that formed a central part of Meg Thatcher's character. That she cared had been a relief after so long. He knew his sister was right though: they both needed time to adjust, to adapt, to accept. And he needed his freedom back. Loath as he was to admit it, he knew that Meg's interference was his best chance. He smiled at nothing and went to join what was, he realised, his family. His appearance in the lounge was greeted by warm smiles from the humans and by the wriggling dogs getting under his feet.


	10. Conclusions

One Thursday afternoon, a little over six months later, Inspector Meg Thatcher was waiting impatiently for her office phone to ring. Assuming that she had calculated correctly, the formal confirmation of the removal of the requirement for Sergeant Benton Fraser to request permission from headquarters for any movement away from his posting should be reaching him about now.

It had taken three months to make the case: odd hours snatched here and there among her daily duties; weekends staying with Buck or Maggie; a long weekend when she'd taken a couple of days' leave and visited Fort Good Hope to finalise the last details of their argument; more headaches than she could count; tense phone calls in which she had often wished they'd been able to have the conversations in person so she could hold Ben's hand as he struggled to find the words - for he was Ben now - his surname only used in moments of exasperation. She'd also learnt, much to her disappointment, though not entirely to her surprise exactly how rarely Fraser was within reach of a telephone when on wilderness duties. Following it through and making sure that it did not get lost in the piles of internal paperwork had consumed another three patience-testing months.

Meg had received notice from Ottawa that morning saying that, as she had so eloquently pointed out, it really was ridiculous for a long-serving and generally well-liked and respected member of the RCMP to have less personal freedom than a recently paroled - now hopefully prepared to be law-abiding - criminal. Sergeant Benton Fraser would have all restrictions lifted, except an obligation to notify HQ of any visits to Ottawa.

When Meg had first mentioned proposing that as an acceptable caveat, Ben had said nothing for a long moment before laughing heartily. He'd explained that, as he had absolutely no desire to return to Ottawa, it was a condition that he was entirely indifferent to. In fact, any condition that banned him from particular localities was not important, so long as he could visit those whom he cared about most.

The phone rang and Meg jumped. "Inspector Meg Thatcher," she said, just in case it wasn't who she expected.

"Thank you, Meg. Flight arrives fourteen thirty-five tomorrow." Meg nodded, even though she knew Ben couldn't see her.

"I'll be there," she promised, hardly surprised when Ben hung up without another word. She knew he would still be processing the news and reassessing what it meant for himself. She also knew that the next step was a transfer request - to one of the small towns an hour or two from Edmonton: not so urban that he'd be suffocated, but much more convenient for the Depot and close enough to her posting that, like Ray and Maggie, the stresses put on their relationship by living apart would not be too severe - late nights would merely mean early mornings and a long commute. Eventually, the four of them would move north - though that did not necessarily mean that they would end up living any nearer to each other than any of them presently did.

The next day she changed into her red serge at lunchtime - much to the amusement of her staff. "I'm meeting a fellow officer at the airport," she explained to one of the sergeants as she stood in her office doorway, fastening her Sam Browne before slipping her blue pea coat on over the top.

"Very good, Meg," the sergeant had replied and returned to her work.

Meg knew that she really didn't need to wear the serge, Ben would find her without any trouble, especially since Pearson and Eliza were coming too, but she suspected that he'd wear uniform and decided that it prevented any possibility of agonising over what to wear, besides, it was freezing outside and the uniform had the distinct advantage of being warm. At four minutes past three, she found out that she'd been right: he was wearing his antiquated brown uniform. After she'd greeted the dogs, Ben picked Meg up in a hug and span her round. She laughed and hid her face against his shoulder, breathing in the faint smell that was uniquely his: soap, leather, pine, dog and what she could only ever describe as snow.

"Put me down, Ben," she said breathlessly, eyes dancing.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Red suits you," he said a moment later, his blue eyes twinkling happily. He took her hand and they walked out of the terminal building with the two dogs trotting smartly at their heels.

They took a taxi back and Meg introduced Ben to the desk sergeant and got him issued with a visitor's pass. He was staying for a week and, although his time was his own, he had expressed an interest in seeing whether he could be of any use. Well schooled in etiquette, they had returned to something approaching formality by the time they reached the large open-plan office where most of Meg's direct staff worked.

Meg clapped her hands twice when they entered, then waited patiently as quiet gradually descended on the room.

"This is Sergeant..." she began.

"Benton Fraser," one of the younger constables squeaked, his face a mix of awe, excitement and surprise - though whether the last was due to Ben's presence or his own actions, Meg wasn't going to ask.

"Exactly," Meg confirmed. "He'll be around for the next week. He's technically on leave though," she added, forestalling excited discussions over who would get to work with him. "So if he interests himself in one of your cases, that's his business. Oh, and before I forget, since I don't believe any of you have had the honour of working with Sergeant Fraser," she added, her smile broadening as memories of egg factories, boats, churches, bombs and generally interfering flitted across her mind, "let me just warn you, from experience, that you may not necessarily like how a case pans out once he gets involved. And please don't feed his dogs anything sweet."

With that, she led the way across to her office where Ben deposited his pack and Meg hung their coats up on the coat stand. Ben chuckled softly once he'd closed the door behind them.

"What?" Meg asked.

"Just your warning about the experience of working with me," Ben replied. "Have you any tea?" he asked a moment later, "I'm parched."

"Of course," Meg said, and showed Ben and the dogs round the building. "You know we've managed to end up in one of the situations we were going to try to avoid," she observed glumly while Ben made them both tea.

"Yes," Ben replied softly, "but you couldn't very well take the time off at such short notice. It will be fine, I promise," he said, holding her gaze until she nodded, deciding that there really was no other option but to trust him. "Besides," he added, "the claim of long acquaintance after leaving Chicago will be sufficient explanation for first names."

"Oh, they don't need that here, rank is almost immaterial - the most notice that is normally taken of it is in determining who cleans in here," Meg said with a grin. It had irritated and disoriented her a bit at first, but after ten days or so, she had decided that her entire staff's almost complete disregard of rank was, on the whole, a good thing.

"Understood," Be said, handing her a mug of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of influence that Meg would have as an Inspector is taken to fit the story.
> 
> The change from Fraser to Ben is deliberate: since it is largely written as if from Meg's point of view, the change reflects the development of the relationship between her and Fraser.
> 
> Had to put in 'Red suits you' - a bit clichéd, but I couldn't resist, it was going to end there, but then the idea of a warning about what happens when you work with Sergeant Benton Fraser turned up.
> 
> There, done. Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed reading, because I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely make believe: this assumes that what Fraser says at the end of 'Call of the Wild' is true. The characters and anything identifiable from the original series are obviously not my invention; the remainder is my imagination running wild - or tame, depending on how you see it.
> 
> All protocols - RCMP, CSIS and firing range - are made up - they may be plausible but are certainly not correct. The choice of (some of the) locations has been made with reference to good old Google maps.
> 
> Comments appreciated. I hope I've got the characters OK and that you've enjoyed it. The title is the first three words of Robert Frost's poem: The road not taken.


End file.
